Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Jan. 2, 2010
Every morning, I wake up in disbelief, wondering how I became the mother of a high school senior. Surely, there’s been a mix-up. For years, I’ve wished that her true mother would swoop in and save the day.
Navigating the labyrinth of mother-daughter relationships is no picnic, and I really put my own mother through her paces during my teenage years. I was convinced that she was the root of all my problems—an absolute nightmare in her eyes. In fact, my mother once cursed me, saying I would one day have a daughter just like me. Those words echo in my mind, sounding like they came from a hunchbacked witch. And guess what? Here I am, stuck with a teenage daughter who mirrors my every move. Please, someone send help.
At 35, I often reflect on how I probably wouldn’t have an almost 18-year-old daughter if being a teenager didn’t feel like running a marathon through a minefield. I remember the chaos inside and outside my head, the relentless pressure of wanting to be perfect and popular. I wore bright red glasses in 8th grade, hoping they’d make me cool, only to be publicly humiliated by a classmate. I thought I’d find common ground with her, but that plan backfired spectacularly. The embarrassing things I did, like super-gluing earrings to my teeth to fake braces, are what keep me in therapy to this day. Spoiler alert: being a teenager is just plain awful.
Now, my daughter takes ages to decide what to wear each morning. I want to tell her that these choices won’t matter in five years, but right now? They do. I wish she could see that the judgment from others stems from their own insecurities. If only I had understood that back in high school—things would have been a lot smoother.
It’s not fair that during the most confusing, terrifying time of our lives, our brains aren’t fully equipped to handle it. Who decided that? They should be FIRED. Someone needs to find a cure for “teenagism” because that could be a multi-million dollar breakthrough! We should focus on maturing the frontal lobe instead of all those weight loss and enhancement pills. I’d trade logic for a little less drama any day!
The truth? I worry for my beautiful daughter. She possesses all the traits I had at her age, and I suspect she might even be a tad smarter. We talk (when she’s not channeling a demon) about the poor choices other girls make, and how disheartening that can be to witness. I have the unique honor of raising a daughter who is essentially a more evolved version of my teenage self, with the same level of ambition—next to none. It’s mind-boggling to think I was already a mother at her age, feeling so grown-up. If it’s true that teen mothers raise more teen mothers, I’m proud to say we’ve broken that cycle.
I know I’m a good mom, which is probably why she resents me so much. But let’s be real: these years are no walk in the park. Still, I cling to the belief that “this too shall pass.” For now, I’m just holding my breath.
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In summary, parenting a teenager is a wild ride filled with confusion and challenges, yet it’s also an opportunity for growth and understanding. You’re not alone in this journey; so many of us are navigating it together.