When I was growing up, I found puberty difficult. I wasn’t keen on the physical changes—I quite liked having a flat chest, hair that didn’t get oily, and armpits that were hairless and didn’t sweat. As a child, I hadn’t felt particularly comfortable within my pale, freckly skin, and that feeling only amplified in my new body.
But the bodily changes were nothing compared to the emotional upheaval of those years. I desperately desired acceptance, and lived in fear of rejection and ridicule. Self-consciousness and embarrassment were my constant companions.
I also wanted independence and freedom, and resented it not being granted. I desired privacy, and became enraged if it was breached. I yearned for an intimacy with people, which often wasn’t reciprocated. I made mistakes, and felt humiliated and ashamed.
When I voiced my feelings, they were trivialised and dismissed as ‘immature’, which only made them more intense. I wanted to be validated, to be taken seriously, and I was angered that I wasn’t. I wanted my feelings to be respected. I felt caught in a no man’s land between childhood and adulthood.
No one else seemed to be feeling the same, and I felt isolated and quite abnormal. So, like I always did, I put a smile on my face and pretended I was at ease with my body and life.
Throughout all of this, I certainly had no adult to whom I could turn, and I desperately wanted one. At the time, I told my parents I wanted to become a psychiatrist for adolescents. I wanted to be that understanding adult, someone to whom kids could turn, someone who hadn’t forgotten what it was like.
I didn’t end up pursuing that career, but when my own kids reached this stage of life, I was determined to make it smoother for them than it had been for me.
I was going to listen to them, validate their feelings, give them independence, and respect their choices. Puberty, for my kids, was going to be about the child—not the parent.
When children are little, they’re completely dependent on their caregiver to feed them, dress them, keep them safe. As their parent, we must watch them, we can’t turn our backs. We have to know where they are and what they’re doing. That’s our job—to protect them.
Each milestone in a child’s life is a step away from dependence on us, and a step towards independence. They learn to walk, and we no longer have to carry them. They learn to feed themselves, and we no longer have to do it for them. They begin to dress themselves, go to the toilet on their own, and so on. They keep moving past each milestone to adulthood.
Puberty is just another milestone, I believe. Yet, it comes with so much baggage …
Despite my own experience growing up, it took me a while to spot puberty in my kids—the sudden grumpiness and anger. The bedroom door being shut. Text messages and emails I wasn’t privy to, and being snapped at for prying. Being told I was overprotective. Being told off for wanting to come to school to watch them play sport or perform. Hearing the words, ‘I hate you’. (In 2014, I wrote humorously about these experiences here.)
It seemed to come on overnight: one day I was their favourite person, their main source of comfort, guidance and protection, and the next day, I was the enemy—someone irritating and embarrassing, and whom they no longer wanted to be around. I was doing and saying the same things I’d said and done the day before, but now it was annoying, enraging even.
It hurt. I felt as if I was being ousted from their lives, being made redundant, no longer needed. I felt as if I was losing them, but the more I tried to bring them back, the further they retreated. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, and I took it very personally.
At first, I dug my heels in, and said things like, ‘These are the rules of this house, and if you want to keep living here …’ and ‘Don’t speak to me like that.’
Then I realised what was happening. That they were trying to separate from me, trying to discover who they were without me around. It wasn’t personal and they weren’t doing it intentionally to hurt. They were struggling and feeling vulnerable, and the only safe place to vent was home, and the only safe person on whom they could vent, was me.
So, I decided not to take it personally and not to react. I let them go. I stepped back and I wasn’t so protective. I told them I trusted them to make their own decisions and I gave them their privacy and autonomy. I left their rooms alone. I stopped monitoring their homework and assignments and music practice. I let them keep their phones in their rooms overnight. I didn’t check their internet browsing history (we do have filters in place). I didn’t check if their lights were out. I let them control their own timetables and schedules.
I let them take these steps towards independence, and I just kept loving them, and taking my cues from them. And beautiful things happened. They returned to me. Voluntarily. They let me in to tidy their room. They started telling me what had happened during their day. They came to me with their disappointments, told me when they were upset, or feeling left out. They told me when they were angry. They told me when their assignments were due and how much work they had to do for a test.
And I just had to listen. That’s all.
The thing is, the rest of the world will judge our kids and dole out consequences—they don’t need their mums to do it, too. If they’re up until half-past midnight completing an assignment, they learn to manage their time better. Or maybe they don’t. It doesn’t matter.
I wrote earlier in the year about my relationship with my daughter, and how by listening to her and giving her autonomy, we became closer.
One of the many good things about having four children is that I get to practice parenting four times over, each time improving on the last. By the time I got to child #3, I felt more confident. Many of the mistakes I made first and second time around, I could correct with the third and fourth.
My youngest has now reached the age where I’m an embarrassment, he’s easily angered, and he’s keeping more to himself. While I’m grieving the loss of our sweet mother-child relationship, I know it’s a necessary milestone towards independence and adulthood. He’s doing what he must—separating from me, and discovering who he is and who he wants to be. I can let him go, because I know I won’t ‘lose’ him—I still get a kiss, a chat, little snippets from time-to-time, and my heart misses a beat when I do. I know he’ll come back, just as the others did. And when he does, he’ll still be the same person he’s always been.
It’s hard to let your children grow up and separate from you, but it’s the way it is. And by letting go, we gain so much more—independent, resilient children, who still want us in their lives.
Such a well thought and written post, Louise. My girl is nine, and I can already see things changing, sense her starting to move away from me. And, even though it hurts, I know I have to let her go, yet still be here when she does need me. It’s heartening to read about your experiences and know that there is light on the other side. I’m excited to watch my daughter grow up and see what sort of person she becomes, yet at the same time I think back to when she was small – time flies so quickly, doesn’t it? 🙂
Thanks, Helen. Our children spend their whole childhoods moving away from us, and that’s how it’s meant to be, whether we like it or not! But the maternal role of protector is hard to leave behind, no matter how much they don’t want us in that role anymore. I found it hard to let go, and worried they’d make bad decisions— because that’s what I did at their age. I should have trusted them more than I did, and I also should have trusted my own parenting up to that point, because they had a much more solid foundation than I did.
To date, the mistakes my children have made have been minor and they’ve learnt from them—not doing well in a test or being up until half-past midnight to get an assignment in. It’s the current fashion for boys to have bobs and long fringes swept to the side, and my son grew his hair. I never said anything, never even spoke to the hairdresser, although I would have liked to have seen both of his eyes whenever I looked at him. As soon as a teacher told him to get a haircut, though, he did. Came home and asked would I make an appointment. It was his decision. He quite likes his hair short now, and, I must say, it is nice to see his face again! But I had to let him make the decision when he was ready.
Hi Louise,
I haven’t been a mother but I have been a daughter. I loved reading this and admiring the brave step you took to step back and let be. It also occurs to me, from one writer to another, that here you have rich fodder for both fiction and non fiction. You stand in the perfect position to write from a mother or a teenager’s perspective. Or both. I can already hear the voice reverberating off the page. I enjoy your posts; this kind is my fave. Bravo. x
Hi Robyn, Thanks for all your kind remarks. These are my favourite type of blog posts, too—I love exploring life through writing. The trouble is, these type of posts take a lot more time and soul-searching to write than posts about my week and photos, and when I was rewriting my novel, I just didn’t have that time. While I’m having a breather from my novel, I’m trying to fit more of this type of writing in, because, as you say, it does help our fiction. Both types of writing are symbiotic in a way—each helps the other.
This made me cry …
Beautiful, considered, thoughtful writing
Thank you for your compliments about my writing, and my apologies for making you cry! The thing is, I couldn’t fit all I wanted to say in one blog post! There’s so much I left out—looks like more blog posts on the way …
Beautifully written & photographed Louise. Thank you. Knowing your history and not having children, your post resonated. A healing journey for your wise heart too. Being a mother seems the most rewarding, yet painful of careers, I am proud of you. ❤️
Thanks, Nicola. You’re right: Because of my history, parenting has been a healing journey. I think getting my parenting right has been the driving force of my life—I set out to prove I could raise good kids if I treated them well and with respect, and I have. And for me, it goes even further than that—it proves I wasn’t born bad. That I was born good, like my kids, and if I’d been parented well and with respect, I wouldn’t have made the mistakes I did.
What a beautiful post Louise. You nailed the topic perfectly. I’m still struggling with my 24 and 28 year old having a life of their own. It’s just plain rude. I’m feeling redundant xxx
Thanks, Rae. There’s still so much I could have written about this topic—maybe in future blog posts. I understand about your 24- and 28-year-olds—how dare they grow up! I suspect there’ll always be a part of us that yearns for those early childhood years again. Although, I must admit I’m enjoying having more time to myself!
I’m the type of mum that thinks, I know best for my children. My favourite saying is , “I have lived on this planet 30some years more than you so dont think you know better”. Many a times there are these clashes because I dish out what i think is best and rarely give them an opportunity even to reply. I mean, how can I not give decisions to a 10 year old who hasnt felt deep pain or loss? As they grow older you give them an inch and they stretch that inch 20x. It’s also really hard to let go… because when something happens it’s really easy to think, I should have done this or that. Then whatever it is would not have happened. What you have relayed really makes sense and I guess it’s time we step back more and listen. oooh this is going to be hard. Thanks Louise.
Oh, Romina, I love your comment! I know exactly how you feel. I’d actually written more about this and took it out because the post was too long.
We want to give our kids the benefit of our years of knowledge, and tell them all that we’ve learnt so they don’t have to learn it the hard way. We want to protect them, but they don’t want to know! And if we let them go, and they get hurt, we blame ourselves for not preventing it. The thing is, most of the time, their mistakes won’t lead to the loss of a limb or the end of the world. They’ll make the mistake and learn from it.
I know how hard it is to step back. My second daughter made me, and at the time, I prepared myself for her to fail school and all sorts of bad things. But none of it happened. When I was hovering and checking and advising (albeit, because I was trying to protect), she was choosing the opposite of what I wanted—it was her way of rebelling. As soon as I stepped back and let her control her life, she could choose what she wanted, and she chose well. It’s much nicer now, for both of us.
Give it a go!
How timely. We have two teenagers in the house plus a tween. The middle child, wow! I’m sure sometimes his head spins as does mine. I often wonder when this alien inhabited my lovely, warm, caring child but I can’t put my finger on it. Sometimes there’s a glimpse of the old child but not often enough. I am learning to take a step back and not to take it personally but gee it’s hard. Great post as always x
It is like an alien being takes over your child! Like a giant toddler who can’t see reason, nor beyond their own nose! I’m sure his head is spinning, too—it’s really hard for them. They’re struggling with all that’s going on in their bodies and minds.
It’s really hard not to take it personally, and not to react. In fact, it’s impossible to never react, so don’t worry when you do—it can be repaired. Rupture followed by repair is what the experts say. Ruptures happen in relationships all the time, but that’s okay because it can be repaired.
And that glimpse of the gorgeous child you get, they’ll come back! Hang in there!
I read this article the other day that you might like: http://maggiedent.com/content/blog/dear-mums-smelly-unmotivated-lazy-moody-and-confused-14-year-old-boys
It’s such a tricky balance, isn’t it? We want to let our children find their own way and become independent, yet we also need to ensure they are treating us (and others) with respect and consideration. Your approach sounds so kind, thoughtful and measured. Your kids are very lucky.
Thanks, Fiona. You’re right—it’s so hard to know when and how much to let go, but I think our kids let us know when they’re ready!
Also, I didn’t worry too much about the respect and consideration thing, because I think kids learn most of that from modelling. If they have parents who treat others with respect, that’s what they’ll learn. Also, if they’re treated respectfully and their needs are taken into consideration, they’ll return it.
At puberty, I think there’s so much going on internally that they withdraw and can only see themselves, as we all do when we’re overwhelmed. I don’t think they can cope with much outside of themselves at that point in their lives.
I also think they’re distressed and because they’re young, they don’t have the words to describe how they feel or to ask for help, so they lash out. The safest people to lash out to are their parents. They need us to see their distress, not their behaviour, and if we can talk about their distress with them, and it can be put into words, the behaviour seems to settle.
That’s how I found it, anyway. Thanks for your kind words. 🙂
Lovely words and perfect accompanying photos, Louise. I will think of your post often – especially whenever I get the teenage cold shoulder x
Thanks for your compliments, Jac. 🙂 The cold shoulders are a necessary part of growing up, I believe. I say that as someone who’s weathered a few in my time, but for whom they’re getting fewer and further between!
Your final sentence sums it up beautifully. It will be good when my sons finally reach the other side. I think boys take longer to climb over the wall.
I think they do, too. But they get there in the end, as we all seem to do! x
Aw, Louise, this is so beautiful. It touched my heart. I can relate to discomfort of puberty and not having adults to trust and rely on. So, the pain is still there…. I was reflecting last week on this huge gap of things I didn’t get as a child and things I’m giving to my children. By things I mean love, holding and support. It’s an unknown terrain I navigate and sometimes I doubt myself and whether I’m getting things right. Anyway, loved reading this post. Very timely. Beautiful photography that accompanied your story. It’s beautiful to see how your children blossomed.
Hi Gulara, Thanks for your beautiful comment.
I know exactly how you feel when you give your child something you didn’t get, in terms of nurturing. I felt sad, a pang of grief, each time, for the child in me who didn’t get that. (I hope you let those feelings come, by the way! We need to grieve for what we didn’t get.)
You’re right, too, that parenting is an unknown terrain, with lots of doubts. I could write for hours on this. When you don’t have a maternal role model, every step of mothering is unwritten. I was full of doubts, too, but I just kept going, trying hard and harder, and working on myself as I went.
Half my kids are adults now, and the other half are well on the way. I know it’s worked, and I know it will work for you, too. Just keep going—kids just need love and acceptance. Give them that and you will get there. xx