The Fledgling Stage: What a Baby Bird Named “Birdy Sanders” Taught Me About Growth, Independence, and Letting Go

A few months ago, I found myself in an unexpected situation that has been lingering in my mind ever since. My daughter was at her dance studio, a big industrial building with a porch out front, when I noticed something unusual on the ground: a small fledgling, sitting near where its nest used to be.

It was tiny, vulnerable, and surrounded by children who were fascinated by this little feathered creature. But the bird was visibly terrified, crouching low, its bright eyes darting around as if danger was on every side.

Only a week before, I had tried (unsuccessfully) to hatch a robin’s egg that I’d found abandoned. That attempt had ended in heartbreak, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was speaking directly to me now. Here was another chance. Another fragile bird. Another opportunity to step in.

I picked it up, tucked it into a box, and took it home.

I later found out that it was a Starling bird. He had little black eyes, grey feathers, and since it was so little, he still had little tufts of hair on the sides of his head. With it’s grumpy facial features, tufts of grey hair with it’s seemingly bald head, we honored him with the name “Birdy Sanders”.

Birdy Sanders. The Bird, The Myth, The Legend.

The Work of Keeping Something Alive

At home, I pulled out a heated blanket to keep the little guy warm. Luckily, my husband had recently been working on a worm farm for our garden, so we had what felt like an “infinite” supply of food. It was as if every piece of the puzzle had been laid out for me.

I fed the bird, kept it safe, and watched it anxiously. But let me tell you the truth: Birdy Sanders did not like me. Not one bit.

Every time I moved him from one place to another, every time I checked on him or tried to feed him, he reacted as if I were a predator. He wanted nothing to do with me. And while part of me wanted to feel hurt. After all, I was working so hard to keep him alive. I also knew it made sense.

I wasn’t his mother. I wasn’t his nest. I was a stranger interfering in his world, and he wanted the freedom to be out there, learning the way he was meant to.

The Moment of Release

After a few days of this tense cohabitation, something changed. I noticed him testing his wings, hopping a little further each time, as if his instincts were waking up.

So, we decided it was time.

We carried the box outside, opened it, and before we even had a chance to say goodbye, he hopped right out. In true Road Runner fashion, Birdy Sanders darted under a nearby bush, disappearing so quickly it was almost comical. Within ten minutes, he was gone; hopping his way to what I like to imagine was his new home, maybe even a new family, where he would grow, thrive, and one day have fledglings of his own.

I still think about him, and I still hope his story had a happy ending.

What Most People Don’t Know About Baby Birds

When most of us think about baby birds leaving the nest, we imagine them flying away gracefully into the sunset, fully formed and ready for the sky. But that’s not how it works at all.

In reality, fledglings spend one to two awkward weeks on the ground after they leave the nest. Their wings are half-formed, their movements clumsy. They hop instead of soar. During this time, they learn critical survival skills: how to forage, where to find shelter, and how to respond when a threat approaches.

It’s dangerous, yes. They are vulnerable to predators, cars, and curious children. But it’s also necessary. This is the stage that makes them strong enough to become adults.

And as I reflected on this, it struck me: don’t we go through our own version of the fledgling stage as human beings?

The Human Fledgling Stage

We have this cultural marker in the United States that says at 18, you are officially an adult. Legally, maybe. But developmentally? Emotionally? Not quite.

Just like a fledgling hopping around on the ground, young adults often find themselves in an awkward, confusing stage of life. They’re figuring out how to live on their own, make decisions, pay bills, and navigate relationships. Mistakes are inevitable. Missteps are part of the process.

And just like fledglings, they need this stage. Without it, they won’t develop the resilience, wisdom, or skills that true adulthood requires.

It can be hard to see this when you’re in it. When you’re young, it’s frustrating to stumble so much. You want to believe you’re ready to soar. And when you’re the parent, or someone who deeply cares for a person in this stage, it’s equally difficult. You want to step in, protect, and keep them safe in the “box” of your guidance. But safety isn’t the same as growth.

The Box and the Bush

I worried about that little bird in my care. By keeping him in a box, I told myself I was keeping him safe. But I was also holding him back from the lessons and challenges he needed to face outside.

That same tension shows up in our human relationships.

Maybe you’ve seen a loved one trying something new; moving away to college, starting a new job, entering a relationship, and your instinct is to shield them from harm. You want to protect them from heartbreak, financial struggle, or failure. But just like that bird, they can’t learn if they’re always kept in the box.

The bush, the open ground, the awkward hopping. Those are the very conditions that create growth.

Lessons from the Fledgling Stage

Here are some takeaways that I’ve been reflecting on since my brief time as a bird caretaker:

1. Growth Requires Discomfort

Neither the fledgling nor the young adult enjoys this stage. It’s awkward, scary, and full of danger. But without discomfort, there’s no stretch. And without stretch, there’s no growth.

2. Protecting Isn’t Always Helping

As parents, mentors, or friends, we often equate love with protection. But sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is step back and let someone figure it out. By doing too much for them, we might rob them of the very skills they’ll need later.

3. Independence Is Messy

We like the clean version of independence: the one where someone “flies the nest” and immediately succeeds. But the truth is, independence is awkward. It’s full of stumbles, wrong turns, and trial and error. That doesn’t mean it’s failing, it means it’s working.

4. Trust the Process

When I released that bird, I had no guarantee it would survive. But I had to trust the process; that nature had prepared it, that it had instincts I couldn’t replicate. The same goes for the people in our lives. Trust that they have the tools, and trust that even mistakes will teach them something vital.

Moving Forward with Mindfulness

So what does this mean for us, practically?

It means the next time we see a loved one struggling in their own fledgling stage; whether they’re 18, 28, or even 5. We should resist the urge to swoop in and fix everything. Instead, we can offer what fledglings need most: nearby support, encouragement, and the assurance that we believe in them.

We can be like the bush the bird darted under: a safe haven nearby, not a box that keeps them confined. A place they can retreat to, but also a place that allows them to continue their own journey.

And for ourselves, when we are the fledgling? We can remember that the awkwardness, the stumbling, and the fear are not signs of failure. They’re signs of growth. They’re proof that we’re moving forward, even if it doesn’t feel graceful yet.

Closing Reflection

That tiny bird outside the dance studio may never know how much it taught me. In a few days of clumsy feedings and restless nights, I saw a reflection of myself, my children, and every person I’ve ever loved who was trying to find their wings.

The fledgling stage isn’t easy. For birds or for humans. But it’s necessary.

So the next time you see someone hopping instead of soaring, remember: they are right where they’re supposed to be. Trust the process. Allow the space. And be ready to celebrate when they finally take flight.