Dear Reader,
This isn’t a personal note to my child, as teenagers typically don’t engage with sentimental letters from their parents—it’s just the reality. Instead, this is a candid reflection meant for you.
Yesterday marked my son’s 16th birthday. Like the celebrations of his 5th, 10th, and 13th years, it felt momentous. Yet, it wasn’t the milestone age alone that struck me; I’d sensed this day approaching well before it arrived.
When my son turned 13, I penned him a letter. It was a little like having a flurry of bees buzzing inside my chest—not painful, but alive with urgency. Initially, it felt akin to anxiety, yet it was more about eager anticipation.
As days went by, I pondered my feelings deeply. Parenting teenagers often grants you ample time for reflection but leaves little room for conversation. So, I sat with the buzzing bees and began to understand them. There was excitement, a hint of joy, but also uncertainty and sadness. I didn’t fully comprehend what these emotions meant, so I held them in my chest, a safe space for my confusion, because what else can you do when you can’t quite articulate your feelings?
When the birthday came, I experienced a sensation reminiscent of profound loss—a mouth full of unsaid words and a desperate wish for someone to listen. Perhaps it was the bees clamoring to escape, but I kept them contained.
Regrettably, my son’s 16th birthday lacked grandeur. It fell on a weekday, and he opted out of a celebration with friends. Family dinner wasn’t feasible either, especially with our rambunctious twins. Isn’t 16 supposed to be a significant milestone?
I gave him a gym membership to encourage independence and started a retirement account for his future—practical choices. Then, I treated him to a slice of cookie cake and took him to an R-rated film that dealt with mental health, which he had chosen.
The ride to the theater was filled with silence—awkward, yet I took pride in practicing my “don’t over-talk, Mom” approach and simply being present beside him. It felt good to allow him the space to be himself, and I felt brave and generous for doing so. The return journey was also quiet—until he corrected my choice of words during our discussion about the movie. The word was “commodity.”
And through it all, I still held onto the buzzing bees.
After returning home, I found myself in the dark, grappling with the disconcerting movie and a perplexing debate with my almost-adult son. Just me and the restless bees.
It was in that moment I realized the bees represented my unexpressed words, fighting to break free. But I held them back because they carried sadness.
So why am I sharing this with you, dear reader? Well, the bees compelled me. It was becoming unbearable to keep these feelings bottled up. As Maya Angelou beautifully stated, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” I could no longer endure the weight of the bees.
I believe it’s essential to discuss the complexities of this phase of motherhood. It’s challenging. Relationships with teenage sons are tough, regardless of the deep love we hold for them. I have an abundance of love for my child; it overflows.
Yet, it doesn’t matter if your teen is chatty or reserved. It doesn’t matter if your bond once felt strong and now seems distant or if you indulge them with treats and outings. The weight of love doesn’t make it easier to convey those feelings in a way that resonates with them.
If you’re navigating this difficult terrain and wondering why other parents seem unfazed, they’re not; they’re experiencing their own struggles. If you feel alone in your fight to connect with your teen, rest assured, you are not. This journey is shared across many households.
In time, this phase will pass. Change is inevitable. I know this to be true. Do you?
Thank you for indulging me, friend. I feel ready to write that overdue letter to my son now. He truly deserves to understand how much his mom loves him, even if he won’t grasp it until much later in life.
Keep pushing forward, fellow parents. You’re doing great!