I Need Advice For My Teen: What I Learned When My Son Pulled Away
I’m standing at the kitchen sink at 7:12 p.m., scraping burnt mac and cheese off a baking sheet, when my 16-year-old Jax clomps down the stairs, grabs a root beer from the fridge, and turns to head back up. I open my mouth, the old question “how was your day” already on my tongue, and stop. Three months ago, I would have asked it, pressed for more when he mumbled “fine”, followed him to his door asking if he wanted to talk about whatever was bugging him. Now I just nod and say, “There’s a leftover chocolate chip cookie on the counter if you want it.” He pauses, grabs it, and says “thanks” before heading back up. It’s not a big, dramatic heart-to-heart, but three months ago, even that small exchange would have felt like a win.
Three months ago, I was the one typing “I need advice for my teen” into the subject line of an email to our school counselor, Ms. Lopez, who I’d worked with when I was a paraeducator at the local middle school. Over the previous six weeks, Jax had gotten cut from the varsity soccer team he’d practiced for all summer, and his best friend since third grade moved with his family to Oregon. What had started as a couple of quiet evenings in his room turned into full weekends locked away, skipped family dinners, and left texts on read. I tried everything I thought I was supposed to as a mom: I left encouraging notes in his backpack, I suggested we go on the hiking trail we loved when he was 10, I told him it would all get better, I even splurged on that new wireless gaming headset he’d been talking about for six months to cheer him up. Nothing worked. He just got quieter.
Ms. Lopez suggested we meet for coffee, and I showed up with a crumpled list of all the “wrong” things Jax had been doing, ready for a solution. She didn’t tell me to just give him space, which was what every other person had said so far. She gave me three small, specific things to try, no big overhauls required. First, stop asking questions that force him to sum up all his messy feelings in one answer. Questions like “how are you feeling” or “what’s wrong” put a ton of pressure on a kid who doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, let alone how to say it out loud. Instead, make low-stakes comments that don’t need any response at all if he doesn’t want to give one. Second, if he’s okay with it, spend time in his space without demanding he interact. Bring a book or your laptop and sit in the corner, don’t comment on his game or his TikTok, just be nearby. Third, if you want to suggest any kind of extra help, ask, don’t tell.
I went home and tried it that night, and I messed it up almost immediately. The first time I brought my book in and sat in the old armchair in the corner of his room, I lasted 10 minutes before I blurted out “is this okay?” He stared at me for a second and went back to his game. I bit my tongue for the next 20 minutes, then closed my book and left without saying anything else. Two days later, I tried again. This time I didn’t say a word. I just sat and read my novel while he ran through a couple rounds of his favorite Zelda game. When I got up to leave, he mumbled “this level is so stupid, I’ve died three times.” It was the first thing he’d volunteered about his day in almost a month.
I still messed up other times. A week in, I got so worried I scheduled a therapy appointment without asking him, told him we were going for ice cream and drove straight to the office. He sat in the waiting room the whole hour, refused to go in, and didn’t talk to me for two days. After that, I remembered Ms. Lopez’s third rule, and waited another two weeks to bring it up again. We were stopped at a red light on the way to get milkshakes, and I said, “I’ve noticed you’ve been really frustrated and lonely these past couple months, and I don’t want to push you to talk to me if you don’t want to. Would you be open to talking to someone else who’s good at helping people work through hard stuff? If you say no, that’s fine, I won’t bring it up again.” He thought for a minute, tapping his hand on the door panel, and said he’d try one session.
Things didn’t magically get better after that. Jax still spends most of his free time in his room with the door cracked (it used to be fully closed, so that’s a small shift I’ll take). He still skips family dinner once or twice a week. He went to three therapy sessions, said he didn’t really feel like going anymore, and we stopped, no arguments, no pressure. Last week, though, he asked if we could go get tacos after his shift at the grocery store, and over carnitas, he told me he still misses his best friend every day, and that he’s actually glad he got cut from soccer—he only tried out because his friend wanted him to, and he hated all the early morning practices.
I still have days where I lie awake worrying that I’m doing this wrong. I still catch myself wanting to push him to “be more social” or “cheer up” when he seems down. But this slow, low-pressure approach has worked better than any of the big, grand gestures I tried at first. Teens don’t need us to fix all their hard feelings right away. They just need to know they can be exactly where they are, and we’ll still be here when they’re ready to talk.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » I Need Advice For My Teen: What I Learned When My Son Pulled Away