As a parent, there are a lot of ages and stages you’re warned to look out for—the dreaded twos and threes, and of course the real madness of the teenage years. You know that as your children get older, they become more independent and less dependent on you. But it’s hard to know what it will feel like when it happens. Seemingly overnight, we went from chattering endlessly about everything that was going on at school to mumbling and exasperated sighs when I asked more questions than I asked every day.
My kids are both in double digits and I feel a little outdated every day. Don’t get me wrong, when they were younger I longed for time alone when someone wasn’t screaming Moo moo moo Along the corridor. Reading my book for 30 minutes without a break was such a blessing. But now I really enjoy those quiet moments more and more, they are bittersweet.
Fun fact: I’ve noticed recently that as I explore this newfound freedom, my daughters feel a certain way about it. On one hand, they make sure to let me know how annoying I am (obviously extra) when I try to find out how their day was or if they have anything they want to talk about. But other times, when I’m not in the mood to deal with the sting of their rejection, I just don’t ask. Of course, I’m not neglecting my kids, but I’m not going to pester them like I normally would. The result? Suddenly, they want to share every moment of their day.
I pick them up from the bus and ask them how their day was or if anything interesting happened, and I get the most basic, minimal answers at best. What’s for lunch today? Is there anything you want to learn this week? Did you see those gummies falling from the sky? All I got was an eye roll and a look that said I was doing too much. To accommodate our new dynamic, I implemented a new routine to try and take it all in stride. As soon as we got home, I went to the kitchen to start dinner, put on my headphones, and let them do their homework. Slowly but surely they came over, asking for snacks and telling some details about their day. It’s like they want me around, but not too much, and honestly, I don’t know how to feel about that.
Apparently, this stage has a name—it’s called “potted parenting.” Our teens still need us, but in a less hands-on way. Our kids treat us like their favorite emotional support houseplant they can’t live without. They don’t need you to ask them how they’re feeling, but they also want to know you’re there if they want to vent. They want to look at the windowsill and see you there, still bathed in sunshine, waiting for them. I think I’ve come to accept that. What can I say? I want to be needed. Yes, I am more than just a mom, but being their mom has become a huge part of my identity by now. But enjoying a cute little succulent in the corner of their lives is harder than I thought. It’s not surprising – I knew it was coming. I just thought I would have more time. In those early days, when you’re really busy, exhausted, and can’t take a five-minute shower, you can’t wait for the kids to get older. In those moments, things seem to get easier. The reality is it’s just a different kind of difficulty.
After all, it makes sense. When we raise well-adjusted, happy, healthy children, they naturally grow into independent young adults, but watching them get to that point is harder than I thought. Of course, it often bores me when I get the details of every game I’m not at. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it breaks my heart not to be the first choice for every little thing.
At the end of the day, this is just another phase of parenting, and I try not to take it personally (and those times when the kids are little, giving out unfiltered opinions like Halloween candy). Gosh, I’m thirty and sometimes, I still need my mom. We always need our parents to some extent. I like to think that whether my kids are 13 or 30, my kids will still come to me when it comes to defining moments in their lives.
I guess I just need to curb the habit of asking them questions about their day (to avoid getting in the way). Until then, I’ll sit back and immerse myself in the stages of parenting—somewhere between the chaos of childhood and the chill of teenage years. I would proudly claim to be a bonsai. Because sometimes just being together, being in the same room, gives them space, but also reinforces the fact that if they need me, I’m there.
Holly Garcia Writes about parenting, mental health, and all things lifestyle. She’s from the Midwest, where she raised her daughter and drank a lot of coffee.
