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Why I Need to Start Truly Listening to My Teen
You know that moment when you realize you’ve completely missed the mark? I had one at my local coffee shop recently. The barista innocently asked if I had an “outie,” and without thinking, I snapped, “What’s wrong with you? Why would you even ask that?!” He looked hurt and explained, “I thought we had the same car.” He was referring to the Audi key I had in hand. That interaction hit me hard and made me face a tough truth: I’m not as good at listening as I thought.
This isn’t just about my barista; it reflects my life. Every week, I tell him my name, and he still writes “Jazz” on my cup. Sure, part of me likes to think it’s because I’m fascinating enough to have a cool name, but the reality is, I barely listen to myself, let alone others. With my teenage daughter, Mia, I often hear her say that I don’t listen. But in reality, I’m so terrified of what I might hear that I’m tuning out her voice.
She’s not my little sidekick anymore; she’s growing up and heading straight for the world of crushes and independence. And honestly, that freaks me out. I never thought I’d miss the days of her asking for stuffed animals at recess. Now, when I try to connect with her, I find myself mourning her childhood instead of celebrating her growth. I need to stop clinging to my version of her and start accepting the amazing young woman she’s becoming.
The truth is, I’ve been projecting my fears onto her. As she navigates adolescence, I’m hyper-aware of the risks she faces: relationships, technology, and all the things I can’t control. When puberty hit, I found myself irrationally panicking over a harmless pediatrician question about school, interpreting it as an inappropriate inquiry about sex. I’ve realized I didn’t listen closely back then, either, often ignoring my instincts about things that seemed harmless.
Now, with the stakes higher than ever, I scramble to protect her and often end up barking orders instead of having meaningful conversations. I know that if I don’t start really listening, she might stop talking to me altogether. I feel the weight of wanting to be more interesting than her Instagram feed, and it’s tough to break through her teenage barriers.
While some of my friends have it worse with their teens, the challenge for me is letting go. I want to shield Mia from every disappointment, but I can’t—and it’s humbling. I’ve found that my attempts to share wisdom often fall flat, like trying to fit a Club lock onto a Yugo. She doesn’t want to hear my advice; she needs to learn how to navigate her life on her own.
I have to remember that she’s listening, too, and figuring things out for herself. I’m not exactly a well-balanced adult myself, so who am I to think I can guide her through this? As I practice listening to her, I’ve realized I need to stop hearing threats in every phase of her development and start understanding her struggles.
Just the other night, my younger daughter, Lily, said something that caught me off guard: “I only sleep with black guys.” My instinct was to react immediately, but instead, I paused and listened. She clarified she meant stuffed animals with black eyes, not what I initially thought. If I can take a moment to really hear them, I might discover a lot more than I expect.
In the end, I hope that by the time Lily becomes a teen, I’ll have learned how to listen better. I’ll be more like “Jazz,” relaxed and open, instead of frantic and controlling. After all, I can’t stop time, so I need to embrace every stage of my daughters’ lives.
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Summary: I’ve realized the importance of truly listening to my teenage daughter as she navigates her own life. My fears about her growing up often lead me to project my insecurities, but it’s essential for me to stop controlling and start understanding her journey. I want to create a space where she feels comfortable sharing her thoughts and struggles, allowing both of us to grow.