Confessions of a Mom Raising Teens

One Sunday afternoon, I set out to take my three kids for a neighborhood bike ride. With my youngest in the bike seat, my 5-year-old son rode behind me. His 3-year-old sister, on training wheels, held up the end. As we slowly rounded a corner, I had everyone in single file. Needing to adjust my seat, I said, “Heads up, I’m going to stop my bike so let’s slow down.” I guess they didn’t hear, because my son proceeded to run right into me from behind and then my daughter hit him. As I twisted around to check on their well-being, I lost my balance and my bike started to tip as my 3-year-old started crying.

When I look up, I notice we are not alone. The lovely Michelle Bernstein, James Beard-winning national celebrity chef and TV host, was on an afternoon stroll with her husband and they had encountered our pileup. Given how adorable Michelle always was, I immediately snapped a mental photo of what I must have looked like in my sweaty mom clothes and disheveled hair – like a Chevy Chase “Vacation in Belle Meade” movie. I smiled as she asked, “Are you OK? Can we help?” Embarrassed, I responded: “Oh no, we’re good, thank you.”

While I doubt she remembers this, I do. I remember riding home thinking, geez, how hard can it be to ride bikes in single file?

Little kids, little problems.

Ten years after “meeting” Michelle, my family has traded little problems for bigger problems. I confess that I hold tight to an idea of a perfect family, which is quite simply absolutely, positively, impossible, and never, ever going to be reality. And as I grow up alongside my kids, I am forced to look at our very imperfect lives.

Raising teens is like iron sharpening iron. We already know the ways we fail and that’s scary enough, but now we see it reflected in our children like a mirror. Whether we like it or not, they embody some part of who we are. Even adopted children, through the nurturing of parents, learn adult patterns – the good and the bad. With five adults now in our house, we get in each other’s stuff. We scrape and challenge and force and, if we let it, the moments sharpen who we are.

And children certainly sharpen your memory! While I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, things I haven’t remembered for decades now spring to life, even unwelcome memories: first kiss, middle school awkwardness, acne. Now that my kids are dealing with issues that I experienced, I’m forced to reconcile myself to past feelings and how those experiences shape my attitudes toward my children. The onion of life just keeps on peeling back.

Like realizing how much alone time I need.

When the kids were little I could steal away to have a good cry in the shower or a difficult phone conversation in another room, but now it’s really, really hard to have private discussions, explore personal feelings and just have an old-fashioned bad day without impacting family dynamics. It’s an uneasy feeling when I realize my children see how "the sausage is made." It’s like someone took off the blindfolds giving them real-time access to my vulnerabilities and fears. Fears like watching my 16-year-old start to drive. While he’s over-the-moon excited, for me it’s an icy-cold terror like no other.

My list of “what ifs” could plaster the side of Mount Everest. It brings me to my knees! Recognizing that my days of control are over has taught me an entire new prayer vocabulary – it’s a desperate plea that acknowledges I can’t control every aspect of my kids’ lives anymore.

Raising teenagers has resulted in some temper tantrums. No, not the kids’, but mine! These days I get tested in ways that bring out my inner Hulk. Like that one day in 2020 when I just had “had it.” I heard this voice yelling through my house, out the door, down the driveway.

“Come back into the house!!!! Now! Or I’m calling your Da –“

Wait, that voice was me … loud enough my 75th Street neighbors to hear! I didn’t know I had a temper until I had teenagers. I confess that I have found my inner anger just about the same time my kids have found their full desire for independence.

Breathe …

Moving from small problems to big problems goes so fast. The time to teach and imprint is a blink of an eye. It literally takes my breath away and causes me to pause. What am I learning in this season? One, yelling doesn’t work; two, I’m allowed bad days; and three, forgiving is way underrated.

But I know that I’m not the only parent to a teen who is trying to get their arms around hormones. In the end, that gives me great comfort – I hope it does for you as well.