I'm a single mom who suddenly became an empty nester. I decided to give up my home and travel full-time.

• My 18-year-old daughter suddenly decided to move out and live with her father.
• I became an empty nester and struggled with the loneliness.
• I then took the opportunity to give up my home and travel full time.

My youngest daughter was approaching her senior year in high school when she announced that she wanted to live with her dad. I was shocked.

I'd been a single mom with primary custody for over a decade. Despite typical mother-daughter tension, we had a good relationship. I was looking forward to one last year together before she left for college, but she had different plans.

Initially, I resisted and tried to talk her out of moving in with her dad. I then thought about a daughter's special attachment to her father and realized that she had her own reasons for wanting this time with him. At almost 18, she was old enough to decide for herself. I also knew that the greatest gift I could give my daughter was the freedom to make her own choices and be her own person.

But it wasn't easy. I missed my kid. Parenting her and her older sister had been the center of my focus for 20 years, and I felt unprepared to relinquish a role I loved. Who was I, if not a full-time mom? I felt like I was being laid off from the most important job I'd ever done.

But I used this transition as an opportunity to find myself.

My empty nest left me feeling lonely

Being a single mom without a life partner to divert my attention and soften the transition made this change even worse. My empty nest felt lonelier, and I felt rudderless, struggling to adapt to life independently for the first time in two decades.

I spent a lot of time reading, walking, and sitting with my feelings. I kept thinking: Is this it? Is this all there is to life?

As I thought more about my needs and wants for the first time in years, I realized I faced a similar opportunity as my daughter. I, too, had the chance to individuate and figure out who I was separate from being a mom — and being single would make it even easier.

A passage in Evelyn S. Bassoff's book "Mothers and Daughters: Loving and Letting Go" really stuck with me.

"As her child turns toward others and away from her, each woman faces a void, which forces an internal reorganization," Bassoff wrote. "What lies ahead for women is the chance to channel their creative energies in new ways."

After a few weeks, I accepted my daughter wasn't going to change her mind and come home, so I started warming up to the idea of being on my own again. For the first time since becoming a mom, I could live life on my own terms and do whatever I wanted.

I left my empty nest for good

After 20 years in Seattle, I was ready for a change. As a longtime journalist and communications consultant, I could work remotely, so after much introspection, I decided to give up my apartment, put my stuff in storage, and travel as a full-time house sitter and freelance writer.

In the year since, I've driven more than 6,000 miles up and down the West Coast — from the vineyards of San Luis Obispo, California, to the rocky coast of San Juan Island, Washington, and 23 towns in between.

I've saved thousands in rent while staying in luxury homes that I could never afford — all in exchange for caring for plants, pets, and gardens.

I've also met some fantastic people — writers, weavers, painters, musicians, and artists — many of whom are retired and aging adventurously while cruising the Caribbean, biking the Olympic mountains, or chasing the path of totality.

I've rediscovered myself along the way

Relief from the pressure of paying almost $2,500 a month for rent has been great for my mental health — allowing me time to write, follow my intuition, and spend time in nature as I travel from one beautiful place to another.

It's also positively impacted my relationship with my daughters, who look forward to hearing where mom pops up next.

Although I initially felt devastated by my daughter's decision, I ultimately realized that she gave me a gift I wasn't able to give myself: permission to strike out on my own journey of self-discovery.