This morning didn’t go as expected. In fact, it was a complete disaster. Mornings in our household are always a whirlwind, with everyone racing against the clock as the carpool approaches. We’re like a line of dominoes, relying on each other to stay upright, and when one of us wobbles, the whole thing can come crashing down. This morning, that wobble was you. While the rest of us managed to gather ourselves and head out the door, you were left behind.
For you, the morning felt like the end of the world. Perhaps it began when you dashed upstairs to retrieve the homework you forgot, bumping into your little brother on your way down. Maybe it was when you checked your messages on your phone instead of putting on your shoes, and I had to remind you to put it away. Or perhaps it was when you discovered that one of your guitar strings was broken, leaving you frozen in worry about your music teacher’s reaction. Your frustration mounted, and when you shouted that you couldn’t possibly go to school, tears filled your eyes. I remained calm, trying to reassure you that you could handle it and that the guitar string could be fixed, but you weren’t having any of it.
When the carpool arrived, I reluctantly waved them on, knowing they couldn’t wait any longer without risking tardiness. I turned to you, feeling the anger building inside me, and saw the pain and blame in your eyes. In that moment, I became the enemy.
Your emotions erupted. You expressed your hope that I was satisfied now that you’d be late for school, fearing you’d miss your science quiz and not turn in your homework. Your words cut deep and stirred my own feelings of doubt as a parent. Should I have helped you with your homework last night? Did I not pay enough attention this morning? How could you think I wanted you to fail? Our emotions clashed, each of us daring the other to make a move. I folded my arms and lectured you about responsibility, while you shot daggers with your eyes and muttered something rude. Frustrated, I decided to take your phone away for the week.
Though I may have had the last word, I certainly didn’t win. I don’t take pleasure in your anger or frustration. I’m not trying to make your life difficult—that’s not my role, even if you feel otherwise. Being a tween is tough. Navigating the storm of emotions while learning to take responsibility for your actions is no small feat. My job is to provide you with a safe space for your feelings—anger, sadness, confusion, and heartbreak. I need to set boundaries to keep you safe while teaching you how to respect others and honor your own feelings. I want to be a supportive mom, not a miserable one. I take my responsibilities very seriously, for both of our sakes.
I am many things, but I am not your enemy. I’m your mom, who loves you endlessly. I’m your caretaker and confidant, your biggest cheerleader, and honest critic. I’ll hold you accountable when you make mistakes, remind you that everyone messes up, and show you how to improve. I’ll celebrate your successes and comfort you when you’re feeling down.
I understand you’re facing a lot right now—hormones raging, your body changing, challenging schoolwork, evolving friendships, and the overwhelming desire to grow up. I know it’s hard being caught between childhood and adulthood. But remember, I’m always here to help you navigate these tricky tween years.
Here’s my idea: let’s sit down and talk. Before things blow up, when everything seems calm, let’s check in. How are you feeling? Did you sleep well? How was soccer practice? Have you heard from your best friend from camp? Can I listen to the latest song you downloaded? Let’s reconnect over the small stuff—the everyday moments that bring joy and excitement. I’ll do my best to ask questions if you promise to share.
And when we find ourselves in a heated moment, let’s give each other some grace. Remember that it’s usually a situation causing our stress—like forgotten homework or a broken guitar string—not the person we love. I love you dearly, my sweet girl. Trust me, I’m always on your side.