Teenage Turmoil
Raising a teen daughter is, hands down, a unique experience. Honestly, it’s less like raising a child and more like trying to coexist with a cat who sometimes forgets she’s human. She’ll make rare appearances around the house, mostly at mealtime, emerging from her room (or “den”) with a look that says, “I could live without you, but where’s the food?” Then she vanishes again, leaving you wondering if she ever really existed or was just a mirage.
She has all the classic cat-like qualities: independence that feels a tad insulting, curiosity that always seems to lead her into questionable choices, and a mood range wider than an open plain. One moment she’s affectionate, snuggling up, wanting hugs and assurances, as if she needs a warm lap. But the next? She’s a ball of claws and sass, hissing at the mere mention of “family game night.” Ah, yes. She’s a creature of many contradictions.
Now, let’s talk about communication. If you ask a question, you’ll get a blank stare that feels like you’ve just spoken ancient Greek. “How was school?” Silence. “Any homework?” A grunt. “Do you want anything?” A rolling of the eyes so intense you start wondering if they’re checking for flies on the ceiling. And if, heaven forbid, you dare to suggest she tidy her room, she’ll vanish as quickly as a cat hearing the word “vet.”
Then there are the moments of pure mystery. You hear her laughing one second and yelling “It’s unfair!” the next—at what? Who knows. A meme, maybe. Or possibly, the existential injustice of her life. If you’re brave enough to ask what’s wrong, prepare yourself for phrases like, “You won’t understand” or the infamous, “It’s complicated.”
But the best part? She’s constantly teaching you things you never signed up for. One day, you’re learning to decode emojis. The next, you’re staying up late to interpret vague, cryptic statements like, “I just… can’t even.” Each interaction is like a mini-lesson in how to speak “teenager,” a language that involves far more silent pauses and eye contact (or the lack thereof) than any dialect known to humankind.
And then, just when you’re convinced you’ve totally failed as a parent, she’ll do something that completely melts your heart—a quick hug before heading out the door, or a shy “thank you” for helping her with that “difficult” math problem (which is just basic algebra, by the way). In that split second, you realize you’re raising a teen girl: part mystery, part mischief, part miracle.
So, here I am, hoping that maybe, one day, I’ll graduate this “school of teen parenting” with a degree in patience and improvisation. Until then, I’ll just try to enjoy the rollercoaster—and stock up on food, because, like a cat, she’ll always come back for that.
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