I thought I got parenting down until my kid turned 13. Now I’m just winging it and asking for help.
This morning I stood outside her bedroom door for two whole minutes holding a mug of her favorite hot chocolate, the one with extra mini marshmallows I make when I can tell she’s had a bad night. I didn’t knock. Last time I knocked and walked in without waiting ten full seconds for her to say come in, she snapped at me for “always violating my boundaries” and slammed the door half shut in my face, and I stood in the hallway holding her folded laundry feeling like a stranger in my own house. So I just set the mug on the floor outside her door and walked away. Is that the right thing? I have no idea.
When she was little, I had this whole routine down. I was the mom that brought homemade chocolate chip cookies to every bake sale, knew all her friends’ names and their allergy info, never missed a single soccer game even when it was pouring rain. I didn’t think I was one of those moms that would lose the connection once their kid hit their teens. I thought if I just stayed open, stayed kind, put in the work early, it’d be fine. Ha.
Last week we were at Target picking up new jeans for her, since she’d grown three inches in six months and all her old pairs were too short. We ran into her English teacher and a girl from her cheer squad right by the checkout, and suddenly she’s all the way across the aisle pretending to be deeply invested in a display of phone cases like she doesn’t know me. I said her name, waved her over to say hi, and she just gave me this death stare and didn’t move. After we left she didn’t say a word the whole drive home. When we pulled into the driveway she said, “You obviously don’t know what it’s like to be a teenager now, everyone thinks their mom is cringe.” And I wanted to say, I do know! I dyed my hair blue behind my mom’s back when I was 15, I lied about going to the movies to go to a party with my first boyfriend, I was so embarrassed when my mom would wave at me from the car line that I made her drop me off a block away from school. I remember. But saying that never helps. It just makes her huff and say, “See, you’re just gonna compare everything to when you were young.”
I’ve read all the generic stuff online. Give them space. Don’t push. Don’t take it personally. But what does that actually look like on a Tuesday night? If I don’t ask how her day was, she says I don’t care about her life. If I ask even one follow up to her default “it was fine,” I’m nagging. Last week I tested the “give them space” thing: I didn’t ask any questions for three whole days, just said good morning, left her favorite snacks on the counter, wished her good night. On the third night she came out and plopped on the couch next to me and ranted for 45 minutes about how her best friend was ignoring her for her new boyfriend. I just sat there and nodded, didn’t offer any dumb advice like “just make new friends” or “it’ll be okay,” I just let her talk. That went good! So I tried it again this week, kept my questions to myself, and she got mad at dinner that I never even ask how her driver’s ed classes are going. Like, what? How am I supposed to win that?
I tried to be cool once, for the record. Saw a TikTok that said you should meet them where they are, learn their slang to connect. So I looked up what all the words mean, learned what rizz is, what all the Skibidi Toilet stuff is, all that. Then when she was talking about this boy in her chemistry class that she likes, I joked “sounds like he’s got major rizz” and she just stared at me for ten full seconds, then got up and left the room. I heard her tell her friend on the phone five minutes later that “my mom is such a cringe tryhard.” I cried a little in the kitchen after that. Not gonna lie, it stung.
I forgot to mention the room. I used to make her clean it every Saturday, no exceptions, back when she was 11. Now when I open the door just a crack I can see socks crumpled under the bed, half-eaten granola bars tucked between the mattress and the wall, a mountain of hoodies on her chair that she swears she’s gonna fold “next weekend” that’s been there for two months. I used to nag her about it every week, until one Saturday we had a screaming fight where she cried and said “It’s my room! I have to live in it, not you! Why can’t you just let me have one thing that’s mine that you don’t get to judge?” I cried in the guest bathroom after that. So now I just close the door and don’t look. But sometimes when I’m walking down the hall I get this urge to just go in and tidy it up, throw out the old moldy food, fold the clothes, because that’s how I show I care, y’know? But I don’t, because I don’t want to fight again. Is that letting her be irresponsible, or am I respecting her space like I’m supposed to? I still don’t know.
Last month she failed her algebra midterm. I didn’t yell, I kept my cool like all the articles say. Offered to get her a tutor, offered to study with her every night. She said no, she’s fine, she just messed up, she’ll do better next time. Then I got an email from her teacher last week saying she’s missed three study halls in a row, been sitting in the bathroom with her friend that just broke up with her boyfriend. I get it, friend trouble is way more important than algebra when you’re 13. I remember that too. But what do I do? Do I go to the school and force her to go back to study hall? Do I sign her up for a tutor anyway even if she says no? Do I just let her fail the class and let her deal with the consequence? I’m so scared that if I push her she’ll shut down even more and we’ll never get back to the easy stuff we had when she was little, but if I don’t push she’ll mess up her grades and hate me later for not making her do the work.
I still have that drawing she made me in second grade taped to my fridge, the one with the purple sun that says “Best Mom Ever” that got smudged when she spilled apple juice on it. I look at it every morning and I wonder where that little girl that used to hold my hand everywhere went, and if I’m doing something wrong to make her want to be so far away from me now.
I don’t need any fancy motivational speeches about how it all works out in the end. I know people say teens grow out of this, they come back when they’re older. But every day feels like walking on eggshells. I’m just over here closing the door to the messy room, leaving hot chocolate outside the door, and trying not to mess up too bad. If any of you have been here before, any real advice that’s not just “give them space” or “it gets better,” I’d love to hear it. I could really use a little help.
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