“There is an ocean of silence between us…and I am drowning in it.” — Ranata Suzuki
For most parents, the teen years are challenging and painful. After all, it’s hard to see the most important person in your life treat you like a nuisance, or worse yet, like someone they want to vanish into thin air.
To put it mildly, the emotional struggle is real.
How about we compare notes? Here’s my story . Maybe it’s yours too.
In the car
When my daughter and I ride together, I often pat her knee. It’s an action she knows means I want to talk.
Her response is always the same.
You know the story of the “Three Little Pigs”? How the wolf huffed and puffed? Well, that’s the first wound she inflicts.
Then, this huffing and puffing and puffing and huffing I mentioned above is followed by the plucking of her earbud. It seems agonizing.
The painful plucking intensifies my hurt. It does so because my daughter keeps the bud millimeters from her ear. That position is her sign to me to “get on with it.”
However, at this point, I don’t want to “get on with it” anymore. After all, it’s heartbreakingly apparent she has no desire to communicate.
Still, after a few moments, she asks what I want. I put on my best smile and say, “Never mind. It’s not important.”
This situation is a daily one for me, and the light in my heart dims more with each repetition. Ask any mother who’s been through this experience, and they’ll tell you it’s gut-wrenching. To be countlessly rejected by a child you’ve spent your whole life loving is an undeniably bitter brew to swallow.
However, I force the poison down my throat, reminding myself of what others say.
“All teenagers are like that. It’ll pass.”
The problem is that those words don’t stop the ache.
“When your children are teenagers, it’s important to have a dog in the house so that someone in the house is happy to see you.” — Nora Ephron
At home
My daughter and I are home. She runs to her room, and I pour a hot bath. Hot baths are my therapy. They relax me and help me gain perspective.
As I lie in the steaming water, I tell myself car silence isn’t all bad. At least there’s no fighting over the radio station.
I also remind myself of music’s healing powers. That’s when a distressing thought rises to the surface. Maybe my daughter needs healing, too.
I need to know to help, support, and offer words of wisdom or comfort.
I walk to her room and knock. It’s no surprise the door is locked.
I hear the squeaking of mattress springs and heavy footsteps. The wolf returns, huffing and puffing and puffing and huffing.
I sit on her bed and ask about her day. She responds with three words.
“It was okay.”
The wolf begins to scroll and text.
I ask about school. My daughter responds with two words.
“It’s fine.”
The wolf continues to scroll and text.
I ask her if she wants to talk. She responds with one word.
“No.”
At this point, the wolf’s huffing, puffing, scrolling, and texting stop momentarily. My teen looks at me with a tinge of guilt, pondering whether her words were hurtful. However, one ding from her phone erases the conflict.
At this point, I’m tired of fighting a losing battle, so I wave the white flag.
Three strikes, and I’m out.
I retreat, downhearted, desperate to reconnect with her.
Then, once again, I remind myself of what others say.
“All teenagers are like that. It’ll pass.”
The problem is those words don’t stop the ache.
“There are only two things a child will share willingly; communicable diseases and [her] mother’s age.” — Benjamin Spock
At bedtime
I give her space. It’s ten, and my daughter only ventures down the stairs to grab her Bojangles combo meal and a Coke. As I slip beneath the covers, I hear giggling and girly gossip coming from her bedroom.
I remember those days. Then, I tell myself to relax, stop being emotional, and remember my teen’s behavior is normal.
The problem is that I then recall other things.
I remember her running at warp speed to hug me when I returned from work.
I remember her begging me to watch Barbie movies.
I remember her coming down in the middle of the night, asking if she could sleep with me “just this once.”
Then, lying in bed, I silently repeat over and over what everyone says.
“All teenagers are like that. It’ll pass.”
The problem is those words don’t stop the ache.
…
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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