The more I sacrificed, the better mother I was.

I thought good mothers were supposed to be tired. We ate last. Canceled plans. Stopped buying things for ourselves. Said yes when we wanted to say no. We kept giving until, little by little, there was almost nothing left of us.

Good mothers, I thought, slowly disappeared.

Nobody sat me down and taught me this. I absorbed it.

From movies.
From social media.
From watching women proudly compete in the Olympics of self-neglect.

“I haven’t had a haircut in a year.”

“I haven’t slept well in three.”

“I haven’t taken a girls’ trip since Obama was president.”

Somewhere along the way, burnout became proof of devotion. The more depleted a mother was, the more committed she appeared to be. And if you admitted you liked your life? If you rested, traveled, spent money on yourself, or wanted anything that had nothing to do with your children?

Well…

You were selfish.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Actually, I reject it completely.

I believe protecting my happiness and emotional stability is not a betrayal of my children. It is part of how I care for them.

And before anyone deliberately misunderstands me, I am not saying my happiness comes before my children’s safety, health, or genuine needs. I am saying it comes before their need to be pleased with me at all times. Before their expectation that I should always say yes. Before the idea that a good mother must keep everybody else comfortable while quietly becoming miserable.

So go ahead. Call me selfish because I like going to dinner with my husband. I enjoy meeting my friend for Saturday brunch after a long week. I buy clothes I don’t technically need. Sometimes I leave the house simply because I want quiet and alone time. I take vacations that are not centered around entertaining my children.

I have dreams that do not involve motherhood.

And no, I do not apologize for any of it.

Because somewhere along the way, I realized something:

My children do not need a martyr.

They need a mother.

Those are two different things.

We have unintentionally taught mothers that loving their children means constantly proving they will choose them over themselves.

Every time.
Every day.
Forever.

But when exactly does that end?

When they are five?
Fifteen?
Thirty-five?

Do I still owe them my happiness when they are adults with homes and families of their own?

Because if the expectation is that a mother must surrender herself indefinitely, then motherhood stops being a relationship and starts becoming a life sentence.

Here is something I have rarely admitted out loud:

There were seasons when I lost myself completely.

I was so busy making sure everyone else was okay that I could not answer the simplest question:

“What do you enjoy doing?”

I honestly did not know.

I knew my kids’ favorite snacks, schedules, shoe sizes, doctors’ names…

But me?

I had disappeared.

Not because my boys demanded it.

Because I allowed it.

That realization hurt. It was easier to blame motherhood than to admit I had participated in my own disappearance.

How it all changed…

One afternoon, one of my boys asked me to play dominos with him. Normally, I would have dropped whatever I was doing. Instead, I smiled and said, “I’d love to later, but I’m reading my book right now and this chapter is a really good one.”

He shrugged, said, “Okay,” and walked away.

That was it.

No trauma.
No therapy bill.
No lifelong resentment.

Just… okay.

And it hit me: so much of the guilt mothers carry was never handed to us by our children. We created it, fed it, and then organized our lives around it.

Now, do not misunderstand me.

Of course I have sacrificed. Every parent does.

I have stayed awake with sick children. Missed things I wanted because my family needed something else. Put my boys first during seasons when they truly needed me. That is parenting.

But sacrifice should be something motherhood sometimes requires—not the only proof that we are doing it well.

It should be seasonal.

It should never become your entire identity.

I also refuse to make my children responsible for my happiness.

That may sound backward, but think about it.

When a mother builds her entire identity around her children, those children eventually become responsible for holding her life together. They feel guilty for growing up. Guilty for moving away. Guilty for getting married. Guilty for building a life that does not revolve around her.

I have seen it happen.

Adult children afraid to leave because Mom “won’t know what to do without them.”

I never wanted that for my boys.

They deserve the freedom to build beautiful lives without carrying the weight of mine.

One day, they will leave. And I hope they do.

Not because I want them gone, but because I am not raising permanent roommates. I am raising men.

If my entire identity is wrapped around them, what happens when the house gets quiet?

I refuse to spend decades pouring every part of myself into my children, only to wake up one morning unable to recognize the woman staring back at me.

She deserves to exist too.

And something beautiful happens when our children see us living fully.

They learn that adulthood is not something to dread. They see marriages worth protecting and friendships worth investing in. They see hobbies, laughter, rest, purpose, health, and joy. They learn that being an adult is more than paying bills, meeting obligations, and being exhausted all the time.

They see what it looks like to build a life you do not constantly need to escape from.

That is one of the greatest gifts we can give them.

Not another sacrifice.

An example.

I have told my boys something for years:

“My job is not to make you happy. My job is to prepare you for a happy life.”

Those are two completely different assignments.

Preparing them has sometimes meant saying no. Holding them accountable. Letting them be disappointed. Making them earn things. Making decisions they hated. Allowing them to experience discomfort without rushing in to remove it.

If my goal had been to keep them happy with me every day, I would have failed at raising responsible adults.

So yes…

Call me the selfish mom.

I will keep dating my husband.
I will keep ordering the wine.
I will keep taking care of my body.
I will keep making time for my friendships.
I will keep pursuing work that fulfills me.
I will keep laughing loudly.
I will keep building a life that belongs to me too.

Because here is what I have learned after more than two decades of raising my boys:

Children eventually leave home.

But the woman you neglected does not leave with them.

You still have to live with her.

So do not abandon her in the name of loving everybody else.

She still matters.

The truth is, she always did.

YOU always did.

Before you go…

If this article made you feel seen, I would love for you to stay.

This space is not just for parenting ideas. It is for honest conversations about motherhood, identity, joy, mistakes, and becoming reacquainted with the woman behind the title “Mom.”

Because the best stories are not only about how we raised our children. They are also about how raising them changed us—and how we found our way back to ourselves along the way.

If that sounds like the kind of stuff you have been craving, I would be honored to have you as a subscriber. This is where I share the stories I cannot tell anywhere else: the ones too personal for Instagram, too long for a Reel, and too important to keep to myself.

The other day, my 15-year-old son was telling me about a student in his class who had upset him. He was fully into the story, giving me all the details, when suddenly he said:

“Mom, this MF has the nerve to step up to me and…”

I stopped him.

“Wait, babe. What is MF?”

He looked at me like I had just asked him what Wi-Fi was.

“Ah, come on. You know what it means. Please, don’t make me say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a curse word.”

Well.

There, he said it himself.

I didn’t have to explain why I didn’t want him using it. I didn’t need a speech about respect or appropriate language. He had just made my entire argument for me.

So I said:

“Just so you know, openly using an acronym for a bad word doesn’t make it any less of a bad word. If saying the whole thing makes you uncomfortable, the acronym should absolutely make you uncomfortable too. Now try that sentence again without the profanity.”

And he did.

He replaced “ MF” with “ idiot,” and we kept talking.

No yelling. No punishment. No twenty-minute lecture that somehow ended with me talking about everything he’s done wrong since the fifth grade.

Just a quick correction.

Because I’ve realized something while raising teenagers for over two decades:

Not everything requires a big parenting production.

Sometimes you address it right there, make your expectation clear, and keep the conversation moving.

I may have been born in the 70s, but I am well aware this generation is very different than mine.

I’m Definitely Not Trying to Raise Kids Who Have Never Heard a Curse Word

That ship sailed a long time ago.

The uncomfortable truth is… More and more teenagers use profanity these days.

My boys are teenagers. They go to school. They have friends. They’re on the internet. They listen to music. They live in the same world the rest of us live in.

They know the words.

ALL the words.

They also know they aren’t allowed to them. [Period.]

But I’m not foolish enough to believe that because they don’t say something in front of me, they’ve never said it anywhere else.

My goal isn’t to convince my teenagers that profanity doesn’t exist. It’s to teach them something much more useful:

Knowing a word and knowing when you should use it are two completely different things.

Because eventually I won’t be standing next to them saying, “Try that sentence again.”

They’ll be sitting across from a professor. A boss. A customer. Someone’s parent. A future partner. Maybe even their own children. They need to know how to read a room without Mom or Dad standing there translating adulthood for them.

That’s why whenever they let one slip out during their interactions with friends over the phone or in person, if I overhear it I don’t just tell my boys “Language!”

I get much more specific:

“I Know You Know How to Control Your Mouth.”

One of my favorite things teenagers do is act like a word just fell out.

“I didn’t mean to say it.”

Okay.

Maybe.

But I also know something interesting.

I’ve never gotten a phone call saying one of my kids walked up to the principal and said, “What the f*ck do you want?”

Funny how that self-control suddenly clocks in for work when necessary.

So I’ll tell them:

“I know you know how to control your mouth because I know for a fact you don’t talk to your principal like that.”

That matters to me because I don’t want my kids believing self-control means never feeling the urge to do something.

Self-control is feeling the urge and understanding that this particular moment is not the place for it.

If you can turn it off when there might be consequences, then you can turn it off anytime.

Subscribe

I also tell my boys:

“You’re Allowed to Be Mad or Get Excited. What You’re Not Allowed to Do Is Make Everybody Else Listen to Your Verbal Garbage.”

This one matters especially with teenagers because emotions can go from zero to somebody-slamming-a-door in approximately six seconds.

And I’m actually okay with anger.

Be angry.

Tell me you’re angry.

Go to your room and complain about how unreasonable I am if that helps you process it.

But being angry doesn’t give you permission to destroy things or spray disrespect all over the house (or in public) and make everybody else deal with it.

I want my boys to know their emotions are valid. And I also want them to understand their emotions do not automatically excuse their behavior.

Another important thing I tell them mostly because they need to hear it:

“If Every Sentence Needs a Curse Word to Make It Hit Harder, You Need Better Sentences.”

This one usually gets me a look.

But I mean it.

There’s a point where profanity stops adding emphasis and just becomes filler.

Every other word is damn.

Every other person is an MF.

Everything is “f*cking” something.

When I hear a group of teenagers use swear words out in public like it’s normal, I immediately think, these kids need to expand their vocabulary.

As a parent, I want my kids to be able to express happiness, frustration, excitement, disappointment and disagreement without needing profanity to carry the entire sentence on its back.

Sometimes the strongest person in a conversation isn’t the loudest or the most vulgar.

It’s the person who can say exactly what they mean without losing control of themselves.

That’s a priceless skill.

I’m 50 years old and I’ve raised 4 boys (2 bio and 2 bonus.)

I know it’s a new generation, but there is not a curse word teenagers can introduce me to.

I promise.

But occasionally they seem to interpret an adult not clutching their pearls as permission.

No.

Us adults can hear something without being offended by its existence and still decide we don’t want our children speaking that way around us or otherwise.

My standards in my house do not have to be determined by what is normal everywhere else.

Which brings me to another favorite:

“Everybody talks like that.”

Wonderful.

Everybody is not my child.

Argument over.

Sometimes I Just Give Them “The Look.”

This might be the one I use the most because it requires almost nothing from me.

They say something they shouldn’t.

I look at them.

They know.

I don’t need to turn every correction into a TED Talk.

I’ve already taught the standard.

Now I’m asking them to practice it.

And I think we sometimes underestimate how powerful that is with teenagers.

They’re old enough to know better in many situations, but they’re still young enough to need reminders.

So instead of constantly explaining the rule from scratch, sometimes I simply hand the responsibility back to them.

You know what is expected.

Fix it.

And continue.

Get the app

I Also Tell My Teenagers the Truth: You Can Curse

[This is probably where I lose some parents.]

Now hear me out.

I’m not interested in pretending I have control over every word that leaves my teenagers’ mouths when I’m not around.

I don’t.

So yes, technically, you CAN curse.

You can also interrupt people.

Tell your boss exactly what you think of him.

Ignore an email.

Wear whatever you want wherever you want.

Say whatever pops into your head.

Adulthood gives you an incredible amount of freedom. It also hands you the bill for how you use it.

That’s the part I want my teenagers to understand.

So I tell them:

“You can absolutely curse. Just understand there are places, people and situations where doing it will cost you dearly.”

Maybe it costs you someone’s respect.

Maybe an opportunity.

Maybe a relationship.

Maybe nothing happens at all.

But part of becoming an adult is learning that I can do this is not the same thing as this is a smart thing to do.

And I would much rather my kids start practicing that judgment at 15 than discover its importance at 25.

Then Parenting Did What Parenting Always Does: It Turned the Lesson Back on Me

The longer I’ve been raising children, the more I’ve realized that almost every lesson I try to teach them eventually circles back around and asks me a question too:

What are you modeling?

I try my very best not to curse in front of my kids. But I’d be lying if I sat here and told you I never do.

Sometimes something happens—a stubbed toe for example—and a word slips out before my better judgment catches up.

And raising my boys has made me much more aware of that.

Because it’s hard to tell a teenager that words matter while pretending mine somehow matter less because I’m the adult.

Yes, I’m their mother.

Yes, there are different standards and responsibilities for adults and children in our house.

But example still matters.

Maybe more than anything.

So when I tell my son, “If saying the entire word makes you uncomfortable, using the acronym doesn’t magically clean it up,” I hear that lesson for myself too.

When I tell him, “You know how to control your mouth,” I have to remember that I do too.

When I tell him, “Try that sentence again,” there are moments when I could probably stand to try a sentence again myself.

That’s been one of the biggest surprises of parenting for me.

I thought I was going to spend all these years raising my children. I didn’t realize how much raising them would keep raising me.

Every stage of parenting has required something different from me.

More patience here.

More backbone there.

Knowing when to speak.

Knowing when to stop talking.

Knowing when something needs a consequence and when a simple “try that again” will do just fine.

I’m still learning.

My boys are still learning.

And maybe that’s why that little “MF” conversation stayed with me.

My son already knew the word wasn’t appropriate.

He told me himself.

I didn’t need to shame him for knowing it or pretend I was horrified that a 15-year-old had heard and used it.

I just needed to remind him that knowing better eventually has to turn into choosing better.

Comment

Because when we hear teenagers, we automatically think one-word answers, glued to phones, closed bedroom doors, and “okay” as the official response to “how was your day today?”

Mine absolutely do all of that too.

But they also tell me stuff.

A lot of stuff.

Funny stuff. School stuff. Friend stuff. Even completely unnecessary and occasionally disgusting stuff I could’ve happily lived the rest of my life without knowing.

And that didn’t happen by luck.

Nope.

I’ve been quietly working a little parenting hack on them for years.

Before you ask…

No, I didn’t stumble into this one by accident. I started doing it on purpose because I wanted something very specific:

I wanted talking to me to become so normal for my boys that they wouldn’t have to decide whether something was “important enough” to tell Mom.

“I started telling them MY business.”

Random business.

Work business.

Embarrassing business.

Things they absolutely did not ask to know.

Here’s how I started

Whenever I see one of my boys, I randomly hit him with:

“You will NOT believe what happened at work today.”

Or

“Guess what? Some crazy lady cursed me out at the grocery store this morning .”

Or

“Can I tell you something? …I’m the one who ate your dad’s chicken wings yesterday.”

No setup. No scheduled family bonding.

No “Come sit down, I want to talk to you.”

I drop my little story like neighborhood gossip and I keep it moving.

And I swear this has worked better for me than any list of “questions to get your teenager to open up.”

Because I figured if I wanted my kids to get into the habit of sharing their lives with me, maybe I needed to get into the habit of sharing mine with them.

And not just the serious stuff.

If I’m being honest, the ridiculous stuff works even better.

Let me tell you about the nail salon fart.(True story okay!)

One afternoon I came home from getting my nails done. Both my boys were sitting around the kitchen island scrolling TikTok on their phones while eating pizza. I said:

“Guys, do I still look the same to you?”

Of course now they’re looking at me like, What is she talking about?

So I told them.

The woman doing my nails was standing right next to me when she let out one of the loudest, smelliest, and stickiest-sounding farts I have ever heard in my life.

Eyes wide, hand on my chest, I looked at my boys and said:

“I think a piece of my soul is still left up in that nail salon.”

Those boys were crying laughing.

I was laughing.

Everybody was disgusted.

And somewhere between the laughing and them asking questions I didn’t have answers to, they started telling me about something equally disgusting that had happened at school.

And there it was.

Exactly what I wanted.

A conversation.

No interrogation disguised as quality time. Just us standing around talking nonsense.

I think almost all parents seriously underestimate the value of nonsense.

But here’s the part that makes the whole thing work.

I never require them to tell me anything back.

That’s the hack inside the hack.

If I tell one of my boys some crazy story from work and all I get is:

“Wow.”

Fine.

If he laughs?

Fine.

If he looks at me like I have entirely too much time on my hands?

Also fine.

I walk away.

What I don’t do is immediately follow my story with:

“So…what happened at school today?”

Because now my story wasn’t really a story. It was bait. And teenagers are smart enough to know the difference.

I don’t want them thinking every casual conversation with me has a hidden agenda attached to it. So I share my story, take whatever reaction I get, and keep moving.

Then I do it again another day… And another… And another...

Something ridiculous happened during the day? No doubt they’re hearing about it.

Somebody got on my nerves? I have a story.

I embarrassed myself? Oh, they’re definitely hearing that one.

Their dad did something funny? Sorry, sir. Your children will be receiving a full report.

I did something mischievous and need to clear my conscience? I make my teenagers my confession booth.

I wasn’t trying to get information. I was creating a habit.

That’s the distinction.

I wasn’t looking for some clever way to interrogate my teenagers without them realizing they were being interrogated.

I wanted something bigger.

I wanted “telling Mom stuff” to become normal.

Share

Think about how we usually try to get teenagers to talk.

“How was school today?”

“Who were you with?”

“What happened?”

“What did he say?”

“Then what happened?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A teenager can mention one little thing during the drive home and suddenly find himself being deposed in the car. Meanwhile, I had an entire damn day too. Why am I demanding a detailed recap of theirs while offering absolutely nothing about mine?

So I flipped it.

Instead of constantly trying to pull conversation out of my kids, I started putting conversation into the house.

No expectations. No immediate return on my investment. Just repetition.

Story.

Laugh.

Walk away.

Story.

“Wow, Mom.”

Walk away.

Story.

Eye roll.

Walk away.

Until one day, something changed.

I stepped into the kitchen, before I could even open my mouth, one of my teenage boys said:

“Guess what happened today?”

Baby.

Do you know how hard I had to play it cool?

Inside I was screaming:

IT WORKED! IT WORKED!

But I didn’t celebrate.

I didn’t turn it into a parenting moment.

I just looked at him and casually said:

“What happened?”

And I listened.

Here’s why I think this works so well with teenagers

I think it works because it lets my teenagers ‘come toward me without me constantly coming after them.’

When I walk up and say, “You will NOT believe what happened today,” they’re not the ones on the spot.

I am.

They can laugh. Ask a question. Tell me something similar. Or tell me absolutely nothing.

There’s no pressure to perform just because Mom wants to “connect.”

And there’s another part I really really love:

They get to know me as a person, not just as the woman asking about grades, reminding them about responsibilities, or wondering why there are three empty Gatorade bottles in their room.

I give them little pieces of my world—the good, the bad, the ugly—without asking them to hand me pieces of theirs in return.

Eventually, they started doing it anyway.

That’s why the real hack isn’t simply telling your teenagers about your day. It’s going first without requiring them to go next.

I share. I leave the door open. And most importantly, I don’t stand in the doorway waiting for them to walk through it.

Message me

We Need to Stop Sleeping on The Meaningless Conversations

Parents hear a lot about having meaningful conversations with our teenagers.

And yes, obviously those conversations matter. But I think we’re seriously underestimating the meaningless ones.

The gossip.

The embarrassing stories.

The dumb observations.

The two-minute conversation in the kitchen that accomplishes absolutely nothing.

The stuff that has nothing to do with grades, behavior, chores, college, sex, drugs, mental health, responsibilities or their future.

Sometimes nobody needs to learn a damn thing. Sometimes you just need to laugh about something silly… like a fart.

Because before your teenager trusts you with something heavy, it helps if talking to you already feels ordinary.

I don’t need my boys to tell me everything. And quite honestly, I don’t want to know everything. There are things teenage boys should take directly to their friends, their brothers, their group chats, God, or the grave.

I’m their mother. I know my lane.

But I do want talking to me to feel normal. Because one day the story might not be funny. One day “Guess what happened today?” might be followed by something embarrassing.

Something they screwed up.

Something someone did to them.

Something they’re afraid to tell me.

Something they need help figuring out.

And if that day comes, I don’t want our first real attempt at communication to begin with me saying:

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

I want the evidence to already be there.

Years of ridiculous stories. Years of me walking into a room saying, “You are NOT going to believe this.” Years of laughing in the kitchen or the car. Years of conversations that didn’t have an objective. Years of me shamelessly telling them my stuff without demanding theirs in return.

Because I don’t think closeness with teenagers is built only during the big talks. A huge chunk of it is built during the conversations nobody thinks count.

And now sometimes I’m the one minding my damn business when I hear:

“Mom, guess what happened today?”

And every time I hear it my heart smiles because I know exactly what it means.

The door is open.

Even if what comes through it is something so disgusting I immediately wish I had closed the damn thing.

Comment

Don’t go stressing yourself and your kids out after watching videos of overachieving parents and their overachieving kids.

You know the ones.

Their 15-year-old is taking four AP classes, plays varsity sports, speaks three languages, volunteers every weekend, has a 4.7 GPA, and apparently started a small business somewhere between breakfast and algebra.

Good for that kid. Seriously.

But that doesn’t mean something is wrong with yours.

Having a solid C student doesn’t mean they aren’t learning. It doesn’t mean you’re failing as a parent. And it certainly doesn’t mean they’re destined to struggle through adulthood.

Some kids are naturally academic. Some have to work twice as hard for the same grade. Some are incredibly smart in ways that will never show up on a report card.

And some kids simply don’t care about getting an A as much as we think they should.

That last one can be hard for parents to accept.

Of course, if I know my child is capable of more and is getting Cs because he refuses to turn in assignments, doesn’t study, or isn’t putting in reasonable effort, we’re going to have a conversation.

I’m not suggesting we stop having standards.

I’m saying our standards should be based on the child standing in front of us, not somebody else’s child from the internet.

There’s a difference between encouraging your kid to reach their potential and making them feel like their potential only counts if it looks impressive on paper.

So yes, push when they need pushing.

Get them help when they’re struggling.

Hold them accountable when they’re being lazy.

Praise them when they work hard.

But stop treating every C like evidence that their future is falling apart.

Sometimes a C means they tried their absolute best.

Sometimes it means they could’ve tried harder.

And sometimes a C is just… a damn C.

Your kid is going to be okay.

Maybe as a parent I need this reminder too…

I know how easy it is to wonder if I should be pushing more. Expecting more. Doing more. Especially when I see someone else’s kid accomplishing something incredible.

But I have to remind myself: I’m raising my kids, not theirs.

My job is to know my child. To push when I know he’s capable of more, help when he needs it, and recognize when what he’s doing is actually enough.

And sometimes, as parents, we need to learn to be okay with enough.

“Raising children is hard.”

“Kids will test your patience.”

“You’ll never sleep the same again.”

“Motherhood will change you.”

Blah, blah, blah.

I heard all of it.

But nobody told me the one thing I probably needed to hear most:

More than once, you may find yourself questioning whether you’re actually cut out to be a mother.

There. I said it.

Subscribe

Whenever I hear some women say they don’t want kids, as a mother I completely understand and will never judge them for it.

Maybe that wasn’t your experience. Maybe you became a mother and immediately felt like you had stepped into the role you were born for.

Good for you.

That was not my story.

There were times in my twenties, when I was raising my first son alone and trying to keep my head above water, I looked at my life and thought:

What the hell were you thinking?

And there were moments when the question was even harder to admit:

Is this life really for me?

Not because I didn’t love my child. Not because I wanted something bad to happen to him. And certainly not because I was a terrible mother. The truth is…

I was overwhelmed.

I was young.

I was exhausted.

I was carrying responsibilities I didn’t fully understand until they were already mine.

And some days, motherhood felt less like the beautiful experience everyone talked about and more like the ultimate endurance test.

Mental.

Physical.

Financial.

Emotional.

Especially when you’re doing so much of it alone.

That was me in my twenties.

And I wish somebody had told unhappy younger me that questioning the life I was living did not automatically mean I didn’t love the child I was raising.

Sometimes it simply meant:

This is really fuck!ng hard.

We don’t say that enough.

We like motherhood better when it’s wrapped in gratitude. We are very comfortable hearing a mother say she’s tired and overwhelmed, like it’s normal.

But we get uncomfortable when she admits she once wondered whether she wanted this life at all.

Here’s something else I’ve learned through my early struggles with motherhood:

Not every woman you see enjoying motherhood today was 100% all-in every single day of the journey.

I was not.

Some of us had seasons when we were barely holding it together.

Some of us cried and then got up and washed the baby bottles.

Some of us wanted five minutes where we weren’t responsible for anyone.

Some of us fantasized about the life we might have had if we’d made different choices.

And then morning came. We got up. We went to work. We paid bills. We figured things out. And we kept raising those babies.

Share

Now I’m in my 50s, and the questions I ask myself are completely different.

I look at my children and the life that came from all those years I wasn’t sure I could handle, and I think:

Aren’t you glad you held on?

Aren’t you glad you kept going when you felt completely unqualified?

Aren’t you glad you didn’t judge your entire life by one brutally difficult season?

Aren’t you glad the exhausted woman in her twenties kept pushing and didn’t give up on herself or her baby?

Because back then, she couldn’t see the good parts yet.

She couldn’t see her children growing up.

She couldn’t see herself getting stronger.

She couldn’t see the laughter that would eventually replace some of the tears.

She couldn’t see that one day the babies who needed absolutely everything from her would become young men (or women) with lives, personalities, opinions and stories of their own.

She couldn’t see the woman she would become either.

If I could sit beside that exhausted twenty-something version of myself for five minutes, I wouldn’t give her some beautiful speech about cherishing every moment.

I wouldn’t tell her “motherhood is a blessing. She should be grateful.” And I for sure would not expect that to magically make a hard day easier.

I’d tell her something much more useful. I’d tell her:

You’re allowed to hate how hard motherhood feels sometimes without hating being a mother or deciding you hate your life.

Then I’d tell her:

Keep going.

Not because every day is going to become beautiful.

Not because motherhood will suddenly become easy.

But because one day you’re going to look back at the woman who wondered, “What the hell were you thinking?”

And you’re going to have an answer for her. And the answer is:

“You were building a life you hadn’t lived long enough to understand yet.”

Comment

Some of the most honest conversations I’ve ever had about parenting started with a confession.

Just an ordinary Friday afternoon over an early dinner with my friend Mimi.

Like we always do, we started catching up on life, work, our husbands, and eventually our teenagers.

Then, almost casually, she looked up from her drink and said, “I searched my son’s bedroom while he was at school today.”

She said it almost in a whisper, like she was confessing to a crime.

“I hated doing it,” she quickly added. “But something just didn’t feel right.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

Then I smiled and admitted that I periodically inspect my teenagers’ rooms too.

The relief on her face was immediate.

“Thank goodness,” she laughed. “I thought I was the only one.”

She took another sip of her skinny mojito before quietly confessing that she’d also read her daughter’s text messages.

“My turn,” I said.

I told her about the first time one of my sons went to a basketball game at another school with his friends. I smiled, acted completely normal, wished him a great time, and secretly slipped an AirTag into his backpack before he walked out the door.

About five minutes later, he texted me a laughing emoji. “Mom 😂… I saw you put the AirTag in my backpack.” I couldn’t help but laugh. Apparently I wasn’t nearly as sneaky as I thought I was.

Mimi laughed until tears came out of her eyes.

Then she admitted she’d once blamed the internet company for the Wi-Fi being “down” when, in reality, she’d simply changed the password because she desperately needed one peaceful evening from all the video game yelling.

It struck me that two otherwise confident mothers suddenly felt like we had to whisper about decisions we’d make all over again tomorrow. You know, decisions like…

Searching bedrooms.

Reading text messages.

Checking locations.

Verifying stories.

Saying no to sleepovers.

The difference was, I actually talk about these things publicly. As a matter of fact, I post about them almost weekly on my social media.

Mimi looked at me.

“Well… I could never post that on Instagram. Girl, you’re gonna get canceled.”

Share

I understood exactly what she meant.

Because every time I share one of our family rules, one of our consequences, or one of the unpopular decisions we’ve made as parents, the comments inevitably follow.

I’ve been called controlling.

Toxic.

Abusive.

A dictator.

I’ve been told my children will cut me off when they’re adults. That I’m raising sneaky kids. That my boys will spend years in therapy because of me.

Some people simply disagree with my parenting philosophy, and I genuinely respect that. Parenting isn’t one-size-fits-all.

But a surprising number of people don’t simply disagree.

They assume that because they watched a sixty-second video, they now know my family. In reality…

They don’t know my children.

They don’t know our conversations.

They don’t know our relationship.

They don’t know our culture, our values, our life experiences, or the realities that shape the way we parent.

They see one consequence, one rule, or one decision, then they believe they’ve seen the whole story. The truth is, parenting doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

Every family is raising different children with different personalities, different temptations, different fears, different neighborhoods, different cultures, and different life experiences.

What feels unnecessary to one family may feel completely reasonable to another.

And that’s okay.

Because parenting has never been about getting strangers on the internet to agree with me. It’s always been about making decisions I can live with when my head hits the pillow at night.

The bedroom thing

One confession I shared online created more outrage than anything else I’ve ever posted.

I mentioned that I periodically inspect my teenagers’ rooms.

You would’ve thought I’d confessed to committing a felony.

Hundreds of comments accused me of violating my children’s “rights.”

Destroying their trust.

Creating sneaky kids.

Whenever I read those comments, I always find myself asking the same question.

Which legal rights, exactly?

In my opinion, this is where parenting philosophy and the law often get confused.

If you personally believe parents should never search their child’s room, that’s absolutely your choice.

You’re entitled to that opinion.

But saying I’m violating my children’s legal rights to privacy is something entirely different.

Before responding publicly, I decided to make sure my understanding of the law matched my instincts as a parent.

Under U.S. law, parents generally have broad authority to supervise, monitor, and search their minor children’s belongings as part of their responsibility to raise and protect them.

Furthermore, children do not have the same legal expectation of privacy from their parents that adults have from the government or from other adults. The Fourth Amendment protects citizens from unreasonable government searches. It does not prevent parents from searching their own minor child’s room inside their own home.

Parents also have a legal responsibility to provide for and protect their children. Rights and responsibilities have always gone hand in hand. It would make very little sense to hold parents legally responsible for their children while stripping them of the authority to supervise them.

Sometimes protecting them means checking things we’d rather never have to check.

Now, that doesn’t mean anything goes.

Intent matters.

Respect matters.

Context matters.

My boys know I go into their rooms while they’re at school.

Sometimes I’m changing sheets.

Sometimes I’m putting away laundry.

Sometimes I’m cleaning.

Sometimes I’m simply looking around.

This has never been some secret mission designed to humiliate them or “catch” them doing something wrong.

As they’ve gotten older, I’ve also tried to respect their growing independence. I knock if they’re inside and wait to be invited in. And whenever possible, I enter their rooms when they’re not home because I believe they deserve dignity and respect.

But privacy is not the same thing as secrecy, now is it? When those two come into conflict, safety wins every single time in my home.

I also understand there are legal situations that can become more nuanced, such as foster care placements, court orders, or certain circumstances involving older teenagers.

But for parents raising minor children in their own homes, the law has long recognized something the internet too often forgets: With parental authority comes parental responsibility.

That’s the part people often leave out.

God forbid… If my minor child brings drugs into my home.

If he’s being groomed online.

If he’s hiding something dangerous.

If he’s caught up with the wrong crowd…

Nobody is going to congratulate me for respecting his privacy.

What they’re gonna do is ask me the question every parent dreads.

“How did you not know?”

Subscribe

Is it lack of trust or simply supervision?

One criticism I hear all the time is, “If you have to search your child’s room, you obviously don’t trust them,” or, “All you’re doing is teaching them to become sneakier.

I actually think that’s a false choice.

Though I understand why people feel that way, I don’t believe trust and supervision are mutually exclusive. They are not opposites.

I trust my boys deeply.

I also recognize they’re teenagers.

Teenagers are still learning.

Still impressionable.

Still capable of making poor decisions.

Still capable of being influenced by people who don’t share our family’s values.

As a responsible parent my job isn’t to assume nothing could ever go wrong. Actually, my job is to stay engaged enough to notice when something does.

And if I ever look around a room because my instincts tell me something isn’t right, I’d rather hear, “Mom, you shouldn’t have looked,” than spend the rest of my life wishing I had.

The sleepover thing

Then there’s the sleepover debate.

People often ask why I don’t allow them.

My answer is simple.

Because I know my children. But I don’t know every adult they’ll be sleeping under the same roof with.

Every year we hear heartbreaking stories that remind us predators don’t wear warning labels.

Neither do abusive older siblings.

Or unsecured firearms.

Or drugs.

Or adults who make terrible decisions.

My responsibility isn’t to protect another parent’s feelings.

It’s to protect my children.

The same goes for reading text messages. Personally I do not read my children’s text messages. But I understand parents that do.

No, I don’t believe they spend their evenings scrolling through every conversation. But if they have reason to believe something is wrong, I absolutely support them if they look.

And if I were to ever read my kids’ text messages, it will not be because I want to invade their privacy. But because I’d rather discover bullying, grooming, threats, or dangerous behavior before it becomes a tragedy than after.

But what about privacy?

Privacy is important. But like most freedoms we give our children, it should grow alongside maturity, responsibility, and demonstrated good judgment.

Meaning…

Privacy should increase as maturity and responsibility increase.

It shouldn’t automatically arrive with a smartphone or a laptop.

I trust my boys. What I don’t automatically trust is every influence that enters their lives. Teenagers have friends. Those friends have other friends. And every one of those children is being raised under a different roof.

With different values.

Different boundaries.

Different supervision.

I cannot speak for what happens in someone else’s home. I can only speak for mine.

There’s one more layer to this that I rarely talk about… As a mom raising Black boys, that responsibility carries another layer that I don’t often talk about.

Not because I’m ashamed of it. But because I don’t want every parenting conversation to become a conversation about race.

Still, pretending it doesn’t influence some of my decisions wouldn’t be honest.

I know there is a possibility that one day one of my sons could be judged before someone takes the time to know his character.

I cannot control prejudice.

I cannot control profiling.

I cannot control another person’s assumptions.

But I refuse to let anyone say my sons lacked the character or guidance they should have received at home.

What I can and will control is the kind of young men I’m raising.

Young men who tell the truth.

Who respect authority without losing their dignity.

Who take responsibility when they’re wrong.

Who understand that integrity isn’t something you perform when people are watching.

It’s who you are when nobody is.

If one of my boys is ever judged unfairly—and I sincerely pray that day never comes—I hope every teacher, coach, employer, neighbor, and officer who actually knows him will immediately say,

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

Not because my parenting can erase someone else’s prejudice.

It can’t.

But because character leaves fingerprints wherever it goes.

Maybe that’s why I continue sharing these unpopular parenting decisions.

Not because I think every parent should do exactly what I do. And certainly not because I think I’ve figured parenting out. Far from it.

I share them because behind almost every controversial parenting decision I make is something far less controversial.

Love. Fear. Responsibility. Three emotions that quietly sit behind far more parenting decisions than we’d ever admit publicly.

The desperate hope that we’re doing enough to prepare our children for a world we cannot completely protect them from.

The internet rewards parents who speak as though every family should be run exactly the same way. Real parenting doesn’t work like that. Real parenting is full of judgment calls, gray areas, sleepless nights, and decisions you pray you’ll never regret.

Real parenting is messy.

It’s uncomfortable.

Sometimes it requires making decisions your children won’t appreciate until years later.

Sometimes it requires making decisions complete strangers will never understand.

And sometimes loving your children means being perfectly willing to let the internet misunderstand you.

I happen to believe the best parents all have controversial stories they rarely tell. Not because they’re ashamed of what they did. Because they know how easily love can be mistaken for control by people who have never stood in their shoes.

Maybe that’s the real shame behind parenting.

Not that we sometimes make difficult decisions. But that we’ve created a culture where good parents feel they have to apologize for making them.

One thing I know for sure…

One day, every comment written about my parenting will disappear. Every opinion. Every insult. Every prediction about how my children will someday resent me.

But my sons will still be living with the character we spent years trying to build.

That’s the audience I’ve always been parenting for.

Not strangers.

My children.

And if protecting them costs me the approval of people who have never met them, never tucked them into bed, never prayed over them, and never loved them the way I do…

That’s a price I’ll gladly pay.

Every. Single. Time.

The ✅ ‘s

The ❌’s

There. I said it.

Not “a little shy.” Not “quiet until I get to know people.” I mean genuinely, unapologetically introverted.

It’s so easy and very common for people who don’t know me to assume that because I’m a flight attendant I must be outgoing, bubbly, and able to strike up a conversation with anyone.

Well, I’m not.

And let me let you in on a little secret…

Most flight attendants are actually pretty private people. We’re good at our jobs because we’ve learned how to make people feel welcome, solve problems quickly, stay calm under pressure, and smile even when our feet hurt and someone is arguing about whether their oversized suitcase should fit in an overhead bin.

That’s a skill.

It isn’t necessarily our personality.

I love my job. I really do. But I discovered just a few weeks after becoming a flight attendant that I don’t have a lot of patience for people who seem to lose every ounce of common sense the second they step onto an airplane.

Somehow they forget how to read signs. They forget how to put a bag in an overhead bin. They suddenly don’t understand simple instructions. Yet many of them probably have degrees, careers, and are raising families just fine. I think it’s one of life’s greatest mysteries and it should be studied.

But my introversion didn’t start with this career. If I’m being honest, I think I’ve always been this way. Even growing up, I was far more comfortable watching people than becoming the center of attention. I wasn’t the child who walked into a room and instantly made friends. I usually waited. I listened. I studied people first. Turns out… I never really outgrew that. I’m deeply introverted. And that’s the part people find hardest to believe.

Subscribe

Why?

Because I can sit in a room full of people. I’ll laugh. I’ll smile. I’ll nod. I’ll look like I’m completely part of the conversation. But if you’re paying close attention, you’ll notice something.

I don’t actually say much. I listen far more than I speak. I agree. I observe. I let everyone else have the floor. It’s not because I don’t have opinions. Trust me, I have plenty. But sharing them out loud has never felt natural to me.

I’ve never been the loudest person in the room. I’ve never been the one telling endless stories around the dinner table. Small talk drains me. Large groups drain me even faster. By the time I get home, I usually need silence more than I need company. Ask my husband and my boys. They’ll tell you I’m happiest when the house is quiet.

Message me

For years I wondered if something was wrong with me. Why didn’t I enjoy socializing the way everyone else seemed to? Why did conversations feel like work?

People always say you conquer fear by facing it head-on. So I tried. I accepted invitations. I forced myself to socialize more because I convinced myself I just needed more practice. But instead of feeling energized, I always came feeling a bit off. Almost like I was exhausted.

Eventually I stopped trying to fix myself because I finally realized something about me that changed everything… I wasn’t broken. I was simply wired differently. And once I accepted that, life became so much lighter.

Here’s the funny (or weird) part.

I don’t particularly enjoy talking… but I absolutely love communicating. Just not with my voice.

Give me a keyboard and suddenly I have a thousand things to say. Thoughts I’ve struggled to explain in conversation somehow become clear on a page.

Writing gives me something conversations rarely do…Time.

Time to think.

Time to choose the right words.

Time to understand what I’m actually trying to say before saying it.

No interruptions. No pressure to respond immediately. No competing to be heard. Just me, my thoughts, and enough quiet to finally hear my own voice.

That’s probably why I love writing whatever I’m thinking so much. The words that rarely come out of my mouth somehow find their way onto a screen. And somehow they find the people who needed to read them.

You know what? Maybe that’s been my voice all along. I was just trying to use the wrong medium.

To the Quiet Ones

If you’ve always felt like the quietest person in the room… If you’ve ever left a party feeling exhausted… If you replay conversations in your head for hours afterward… If people mistake your quietness for arrogance, disinterest, or insecurity…

Know this.

You don’t have to become louder to become more valuable. You don’t have to force yourself into someone else’s definition of outgoing. The world needs listeners just as much as it needs talkers. It also needs observers and thoughtful people who speak carefully instead of constantly.

Your quiet isn’t something you need to apologize for. It’s simply the way your mind experiences what’s around you. So keep being you. The right people won’t need you to be louder. They’ll simply appreciate hearing from you—whether that’s across a room, dinner table or, if you’re anything like me, through something you’ve written from the comfort of your own home.

A Very Beautiful Realization

I started this essay by admitting I’m deeply introverted. Yet somewhere between the first sentence and this last one, I realized something extraordinary...

Quietness isn’t the absence of personality. Sometimes it’s simply where thoughtfulness lives.

If life is kind to all of us, there may come a day when you walk into our home for the first time. You’ll probably be nervous. And I’ll probably be trying not to embarrass my son.

But long before we ever shake hands, there are a few things I hope you already know.

Not because I expect perfection from you. Not because I believe women should live by anyone else’s standards. But because after spending a couple of decades raising boys, I’ve realized something important:

The greatest gift my sons could ever receive isn’t a perfect woman. It’s a woman who already knows who she is.

So if I could leave you with ten truths, these would be them.

1. Your value is never determined by whether someone chooses you.

The right people will recognize your worth without asking you to become someone else first. Never shrink yourself, silence yourself, or betray yourself just to be loved.

2. Learn to take care of yourself before expecting someone else to.

Financially. Emotionally. Mentally.

Independence isn’t about proving you don’t need anyone. It’s about knowing you’ll be okay even if life doesn’t unfold the way you planned. One of the greatest gifts you’ll ever give yourself is becoming someone you can rely on.

3. The way people treat you teaches you who they are. The way you allow them to treat you teaches them what you’ll accept.

Protect your standards.

Boundaries don’t push the right people away. They help the right people recognize you.

4. Your beauty may open doors, but your character is what keeps them open.

Kindness.

Integrity.

Humility.

Wisdom.

These are the qualities that continue to matter long after youth fades and appearances change.

Character will always outlive beauty.

5. Your feelings are real and valid, but they shouldn’t make every decision for you.

Feel deeply.

Think clearly.

Choose wisely.

Emotions are extraordinary guides, but they make terrible leaders when they become the only voice you’re listening to.

6. Never confuse attention with love.

Not everyone who wants access to you deserves a place in your life.

Attention can be given freely.

Love is demonstrated consistently.

Learn the difference.

7. You are responsible for the woman you become.

Your past matters.

Your circumstances matter.

The things that happened to you matter.

But they do not have the final word.

Every day you have another opportunity to choose wisdom over resentment, growth over excuses, and responsibility over blame.

Your story deserves an author—not a victim.

8. You are capable of doing hard things.

Please don’t build a smaller life simply because it feels safer.

Fear has convinced many brilliant women to settle for relationships, careers, and dreams that were never worthy of them.

Be brave enough to discover what you’re truly capable of.

9. Never measure your worth by the things you own.

Designer handbags.

Luxury cars.

Beautiful homes.

There’s nothing wrong with any of them.

But they stop being symbols of success the moment they cost you your peace, your integrity, your freedom, or your independence.

Let your character remain your greatest luxury.

10. Don’t become the kind of woman who simply goes with the flow.

Have convictions.

Ask questions.

Set boundaries.

Think independently.

The strongest women are willing to stand alone when their values require it.

And finally…

If one day you become part of our family, I hope it isn’t because you needed someone to complete you.

I hope it’s because two whole people chose to build something even better together.

As a boy mom, I haven’t spent all these years simply hoping my sons choose someone beautiful.

I’ve been hoping they choose someone who knows her worth, guards her peace, lives with integrity, and never apologizes for becoming the woman she was created to be.

If that’s you…

You’ll always be welcome at our table.

Actually… to every parent.

Can we talk?

Really talk?

I’ve noticed a growing trend over the last few years that honestly worries me.

Not because some parents are making bad decisions. But because so many no longer trust themselves enough to make any decision without first asking the internet.

“What does google say?”

“What would Instagram do?”

“What does this parenting expert recommend?”

“What if everyone tells me I’m doing it wrong?”

Somewhere along the way, we’ve become so afraid of making mistakes that we’ve handed complete strangers a seat at the head of our family dinner table.

Subscribe

Before I go any further, let me make something very clear.

I love social media.

I wouldn’t be writing this without it.

Social media has introduced me to ideas, books, recipes, travel destinations, restaurants, parenting conversations, fashion tips, health information, and people I never would have discovered otherwise.

It has expanded my world.

As a mother, I’ve learned wonderful strategies from other parents. As someone who loves to travel, I’ve found places I probably never would have visited. As someone who enjoys good food, I’ve discovered restaurants that became favorites. Even the way I dress has changed because I was exposed to ideas I hadn’t considered before.

Social media has improved my life in countless ways.

This isn’t an argument against social media. It’s an argument against surrendering our instincts to it.

Because here’s what I think we’ve forgotten.

Every piece of parenting advice comes from somewhere. Behind every viral video is a person with…

Their own childhood.

Their own marriage.

Their own children.

Their own finances.

Their own neighborhood.

Their own fears.

Their own values.

Their own experiences.

In other words…

Their life.

And their life is not yours.

A mother living in a gated community may genuinely believe children should have the freedom to ride their bikes around the neighborhood alone.

A mother raising children in an area with frequent violence may decide her children will never do that.

Neither mother is automatically right.

They’re parenting the reality they actually live in.

One family can comfortably spend two hundred dollars on a pair of shoes because replacing them isn’t a financial hardship. Another family carefully stretches every dollar and buys the fifty-dollar pair instead.

Neither decision says anything about how much those parents love their children. They’re responding to different realities.

Context matters.

Always.

This is why I become very concerned when parenting advice is presented as universal truth. Children aren’t raised in laboratories. They’re raised inside families.

Inside cultures.

Inside neighborhoods.

Inside economic realities.

Inside marriages.

Inside grief.

Inside joy.

Inside communities.

Inside stories that the internet will never know.

That’s why the same advice can be brilliant for one family and harmful for another.

I invite you to take a quick look at my Instagram content (@thatcarlileon.) You will notice that many people have disagreed with some of my parenting decisions. They’ve also disagreed with the consequences my husband and I use, the boundaries we set, and the amount of independence we allow—or don’t allow.

And that’s okay.

Because those decisions weren’t made to satisfy strangers. They were made after considering…

Our Children.

Our family.

Our values.

Our neighborhood.

Our experiences.

Our responsibilities.

In other words, everything that makes our family… ours.

I’m not asking anyone to parent exactly like me. In fact, I hope you don’t.

Instead, I hope you think critically about everything I write.

And I hope you take what serves your family and leave what doesn’t.

That’s wisdom.

I happen to think good parents have these things in common.

They listen.

They learn.

They stay curious.

But they never completely silence their own instincts.

Because no algorithm knows your child better than you do. No viral reel has spent thousands of ordinary days watching your son become who he is. No parenting influencer has sat beside your daughter after she cried herself to sleep. No comment section understands the tiny details that shape your family’s decisions.

You do.

That’s why your instincts deserve a seat at the table. Maybe even the head of it.

You should absolutely continue to learn from experts, listen to experienced parents, read the books, watch the videos, keep an open mind. But before you replace your own judgment with someone else’s certainty, ask yourself one simple question.

Does this fit my child… or does it simply sound good online?

You don’t need to be a parenting expert to know that good parenting is about knowing your child well enough to recognize when your quiet voice is the one worth trusting.

A personal note:

I think this may be the most important thing I’ve written in a while.

Not because I’m asking you to agree with me.

Because I’m asking you to trust yourself again.

Most people are not paying nearly as much attention to you as you think they are. [Read that again.]

I don’t know exactly at what age we start doing this, but somewhere along the way, many of us started believing that everyone notices everything we do.

…That awkward thing we said.
…That post with only a few likes.
…The extra weight we’ve gained.
…The typo in our caption.
…The outfit we wore a few times.
…The fact that we stumbled over our words.

Meanwhile…

Everyone else is busy thinking the exact same thing about themselves.

We spend so much of our lives mentally replaying conversations, wondering if we sounded stupid, worrying whether people misunderstood us, or imagining they’re judging us long after the moment has passed.

Share

You want to know the truth?

Most people have already moved on.

Not because they don’t care about you, but because they’re busy thinking about their own lives, their own insecurities, their own deadlines, and their own problems.

I learned this lesson in one of the biggest decisions of my life.

A few years back, I packed up my entire life and moved to a different state to be with a man I had met on Facebook.

Can you imagine the opinions people probably had?

Some thought I was crazy. At least 2 of my friends told me it would never last. And if I’m being realistic, others probably judged me without ever saying a word.

Had I made that decision based on what everyone else might think, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

I wouldn’t be happily married.

I wouldn’t be raising this beautiful family we’ve built together.

I would’ve traded a lifetime of happiness for the temporary comfort of other people’s approval.

Looking back now, I can’t even remember who approved or disapproved.

Because none of it mattered.

My life did. And what I wanted for myself did.

You are starring in your own movie. They’re starring in theirs. I think we’d all be a little happier if we remembered that.

Subscribe

So, my darling friend…

Wear the outfit.
Post the video.
Ask the question.
Speak up in the meeting.
Laugh a little louder.
Start the business.
Apply for the job.

Stop acting like the world is sitting in the front row waiting to critique your performance.

It isn’t.

And the people who are paying that much attention usually aren’t building anything worth admiring anyway.

Life gets so much lighter the day you realize you don’t need permission to be YOU.

You’re doing too much.

Go live your life.

I’ve spent weeks talking myself out of it. Probably because writing it makes it real. Or because I kept hoping that if I waited long enough, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

It still does.

So maybe this is exactly what I need to finally close this chapter.

A friendship of twelve years ended recently.

Not because of betrayal, or an explosive fight, or something unforgivable happened. It ended over something so incredibly small that I still struggle to explain it without feeling ridiculous. And somehow… I think that’s what has made it so hard to grieve.

I’m not gonna lie, it stings

Because when someone has been woven into twelve years of your life—birthdays, countless phone calls, seasons of life, heartbreaks, victories, disappointments, and all the ordinary moments in between, you quietly start believing you’ve earned permanence. You assume you’ve built something strong enough to survive a misunderstanding.

I certainly believed that. And oh boy, was I wrong.

For weeks I’ve replayed the ending in my head. Could I have said something differently? Should I have been less direct? Should I have reached out one more time? Would another conversation have changed anything?

I’ll never know.

Grief has a funny way of making us negotiate with history, as though enough overthinking could somehow rewrite the ending. But somewhere in the middle of all that replaying, I realized something…

I wasn’t just grieving the loss of the friendship. I was grieving the realization that maybe I had been the only one who believed it was built to last. Ouch!

That thought hurt far more than the ending itself. Because if I’m being completely honest, I don’t think friendships end over small disagreements. I think they end because one person decides the relationship simply isn’t worth protecting enough to fight for. And once I accepted that… everything looked different, and I started to feel better.

One very important lesson this experience has given me is that time doesn’t measure the depth of a relationship. Investment does. You can know someone for decades and still discover, in one difficult season, that your commitment wasn’t equally shared.

That doesn’t mean the memories were fake. The laughter, the brunches, the conversations, the support… all of it was real. At least it was for me.

But somewhere along the way, one person stopped protecting something the other still believed was worth saving. And no amount of history can survive that.

Subscribe

Friendship grief is real

I don’t think we talk enough about friendship grief.

When marriages end, people understand the heartbreak. When romantic relationships end, people expect mourning. But when a friendship quietly dies, people seem to think you should simply move on. As though losing someone who knew your children, your history, your dreams, your fears, and the different versions of yourself somehow hurts less because there wasn’t romance involved.

Newsflash. It doesn’t.

Some friendships become part of your identity. Losing one feels like losing the version of yourself that only existed alongside that person. That’s real grief.

But grief has also given me something very unexpected… Clarity.

Maybe the small disagreement wasn’t the reason the friendship ended. Maybe it was just the moment I finally realized I had been carrying the friendship far more than I ever allowed myself to admit.

But I still wish this friendship had ended differently. I wish two people who spent twelve years walking beside each other had chosen the relationship over whatever stood between them. I wish we had both crossed that bridge.

I refuse to let this experience convince me that I cared too much. I won’t apologize for believing some relationships are worth fighting for. Because they are. Just not by one person.

What this friendship has taught me is something I wish I had understood much sooner. Not everyone who spends years in your life is meant to spend the rest of it there. And perhaps even harder to admit… Not everyone values your presence as much as you value theirs.

That isn’t bitterness. It’s clarity.

There is a surprising amount of freedom that comes with finally seeing people for who they are instead of who you hoped they were.

Some people leave your life with more than memories. They leave you with better standards. They teach you that mutual effort isn’t asking for too much, accountability isn’t unreasonable, and real friendship isn’t measured by how many years you’ve known each other but by what both people are willing to do when the relationship becomes difficult.

So yes… I’m grieving.

But I’m also grateful.

Because the real tragedy wouldn’t have been losing this friendship.

The real tragedy would have been spending another twelve years believing I had a friend who wasn’t willing to fight for me the way I would have fought for her.

That realization hurt.

But it also set me free.

And for that… I truly thank God.

Or as I like to call it…

“Wait… I’m how old?”

I turned 50 five months ago, and I still wake up some mornings wondering how on earth that happened.

Me? … Fifty? … When?

I don’t even remember agreeing to this.

I can’t honestly say I was ready for it either. But I guess aging is one of those “ready or not, here I come” situations. Kind of like taxes…or dying.

Okay. That escalated quickly.

Let’s redirect because I don’t like where my brain is headed.

… Back to turning 50.

I’ve realized something recently that made me laugh. Not one person sat me down and told me to change my habits when I turned 50. In all fairness, I didn’t announce I was going to become “that woman” who checks calories before ordering a drink either. It just… happened.

Somewhere over the last few months, without even realizing it, I started making different choices.

I’ve always been a wine and champagne girl. Always. And lately? Well, I’ve been getting acquainted with these absolutely gorgeous margaritas. You know the ones. I posted about them a week ago [Here]. They’re basically cocktails with excellent PR.

Every single time one arrives at the table I think… “She’s beautiful.”

Then somewhere between admiring it and taking my first sip another thought quietly pops into my head… “I wonder how many calories are in this thing.”

Who even am I?

Twenty-five-year-old me would’ve never asked that question. But fifty-year-old me absolutely does. Not because I’m obsessed with calories. Not because I’m trying to shrink myself. Not because I think women my age shouldn’t enjoy a good cocktail.

Quite the opposite.

I’ve actually become more intentional about enjoying life. That’s the part nobody tells you about getting older. You don’t necessarily enjoy less. You simply become less willing to waste your enjoyment on things that aren’t worth it.

If I’m going to spend 400 calories on a cocktail, I want it to be memorable. If I’m going to splurge, I want it to be because something genuinely delighted me—not because I mindlessly said yes.

Maybe that’s what wisdom looks like. Not saying no to life’s pleasures. Just becoming a little more selective about the ones you say yes to.

So lately, these have become my favorite under-200-calorie drinks whenever I’m out enjoying life.

Champagne Brut

About 95 calories

She has never disappointed me. Elegant and crisp, it’s makes every random Tuesday feel like a celebration.

Vodka Soda with Fresh Lime

About 100 calories

Simple. Refreshing. No sugary mixers pretending to be fruit… Just ice, bubbles, lime and done.

Ranch Water

About 110–140 calories

Basically tequila’s more responsible cousin. It gives me margarita energy without the calorie commitment.

A Glass of Dry Red Wine

About 120–125 calories

Cabernet and I have been loyal to each other for years. Some relationships are worth keeping and this one certainly is at the top of the list.

Paloma

About 150–180 calories

If I’m in the mood for tequila but don’t want the calorie commitment of a margarita, a Paloma is an easy yes, Tequila, fresh, grapefruit, a squeeze of lime, and a little sparkling water.

It’s light, refreshing, and feels like summer in a glass. Think of it as the margarita’s laid-back cousin—just as enjoyable, but without all the extra sugar.

But wait a minute now.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, let me say this… I don’t need alcohol. I don’t come home every day looking for a drink, and I’m perfectly happy ordering water, tea, or a mocktail. But every now and then I enjoy a really good cocktail just like the next girl.

For me, it’s never been about needing the alcohol. It’s about enjoying the experience, the conversation, the atmosphere… and yes, occasionally sipping something that’s as pretty as it is delicious.

The funny thing is…

I’m kinda glad nobody told me turning 50 would make me appreciate balance more than extremes. It’s been surprisingly fun discovering another layer of who I am. I know for a fact I don’t want to give up alcohol. I don’t want to obsess over calories either. I just want my choices to feel intentional. And maybe that’s the greatest gift aging has given me so far… Perspective.

I’m really loving this season of life. There is something incredibly freeing about getting older. I care less about impressing people. I know myself better than I ever have. I say yes to things I genuinely enjoy and no to things I don’t. I buy the short, flowy dress. I order the drink. I take the trip and spend the day on the beach... I leave the guilt behind.

If this is what aging looks like, I think it’s gotten a bad reputation. Because life isn’t asking me to have less. It’s simply asking me to choose better.

And honestly…

I think that’s one of the best trades I’ve ever made.

Cheers!

The woman behind the title “Mom”

This was one of mine.

I came home one afternoon, walked into my bedroom, and headed straight for my bathroom.

What happened next is a moment I wish I could do over…

One day, you might accidentally walk in on your child while they’re exploring their own body.

And if it catches you off guard, you’re not alone.

Most parents have no idea what to do in that moment because nobody really talks about it. We prepare ourselves for scraped knees, broken hearts, and first days of school—but not for this.

Your first instinct might be to gasp, yell, slam the door, pretend you saw nothing, or immediately launch into a lecture.

Take a breath.

How you respond in the next few seconds matters far more than what you actually walked in on.

A Mistake I Wish I Could Take Back

This isn’t a hypothetical situation for me. It happened in my own home.

One afternoon, I came home and went straight to my bedroom. From there, I walked into my private bathroom. What I didn’t know was that my teenage son was in there.

He and his younger brother had their own bathroom, so it never crossed my mind that anyone would be in mine. I didn’t knock because, in my mind, I was walking into my own bathroom. Instead, I walked into one of those parenting moments that completely caught me off guard.

I wish I could tell you I handled it with perfect composure. Well… I didn’t.

I yelled.

I asked him, “What is wrong with you?”

The words came out before I even had a chance to think. The look on his face is something I’ll never forget.

Neither of us knew what to do after that.

For the next couple of months, things felt… awkward. We weren’t as comfortable around each other. There was embarrassment, distance, and a tension that hadn’t been there before.

Looking back, I wasn’t upset because my son was growing up. I was reacting to my own shock.

Those are two very different things.

I’m sharing this because I don’t want another parent to make the same mistake I did. If my experience can save another parent from creating unnecessary shame or distance with their child, then that uncomfortable memory has served a purpose.

Share

First Things First: Whatever You Do, Don’t Shame Them

Whether your child is younger and simply curious about their body or an older child going through puberty, the last thing they need is to feel humiliated.

Embarrassment is probably already happening without any help from you.

Comments like:

“What is wrong with you?”
“That’s disgusting.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

…can leave a lasting impression.

Believe me.

I know because I said one of those things.

You don’t have to pretend the situation didn’t happen, but you also don’t need to make them feel guilty for having a body that’s changing and responding in new ways.

Respect Their Privacy

If you accidentally walked in, here’s my suggestion: simply excuse yourself.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve knocked.”

Then close the door.

That simple response communicates something important: “I respect your privacy.”

Ironically, one of the best ways to teach kids to respect boundaries is by showing them what healthy boundaries look like.

Later, Have a Calm Conversation

Not immediately. Not while everyone is still mortified. Wait until emotions have settled. Then keep the conversation calm, brief, and matter-of-fact.

You might say something like:

“I wanted to check in about what happened earlier. I know that was probably embarrassing for both of us. I just want you to know your body is normal, and it’s okay to have questions. The important thing is understanding that some things are private and should stay private.”

That’s it.

No dramatic speech. No hour-long lecture. No interrogation.

Your goal isn’t to make them feel bad. Your goal is to teach privacy, respect, and healthy boundaries.

This Is Also a Good Time to Talk About Privacy

As kids get older, conversations naturally evolve.

You can explain that certain behaviors belong in private spaces, like their bedroom or bathroom with the door closed, and not in shared family spaces or around other people.

This isn’t about making them feel ashamed.

It’s about helping them understand social boundaries and respecting both themselves and others.

Keep the Door Open

One of the biggest gifts you can give your child is knowing they can come to you with uncomfortable questions… Another thing I wish I’d known sooner.

If every conversation about puberty, bodies, or sex feels scary, they’ll eventually stop asking you and start asking the internet.

Or worse…

Friends who are just as confused as they are.

I’d much rather my child hear accurate information from me than misinformation from someone else.

When Should Parents Be Concerned?

Most body exploration during childhood and adolescence is considered a normal part of development.

However, if you notice behaviors that are excessive, happening in public despite repeated guidance, causing physical injury, involving another person without consent, or seem linked to significant emotional distress, it’s worth talking with your child’s pediatrician or a qualified mental health professional.

There’s a difference between normal development and behavior that may need additional support.

Subscribe

Love. Boundaries. Accountability.

If you’ve followed me for a while, you know these three words guide almost everything I do as a parent.

This situation is no different.

Love means responding without shame.

Boundaries mean teaching what’s private and what’s appropriate.

Accountability means helping our kids understand that growing up includes learning how to respect themselves and others.

Parenting isn’t about avoiding awkward conversations. It’s about becoming the kind of parent your child still feels safe talking to after the awkward conversation is over.

Your child probably won’t remember every word you said. But they’ll remember how you made them feel.

Choose calm.

Choose dignity.

Choose connection.

Because moments like these don’t just teach kids about their bodies.

They teach them whether home is a safe place to grow up.

✨!✨

A Personal Note

If my son ever reads this one day, I hope he knows how sorry I am for how I handled that moment.

I wasn’t angry at him. I was overwhelmed by my own surprise, and I reacted before I thought.

Like every parent, I’ve had moments I’m proud of and moments I wish I could take back. This was one of them.

Thankfully, we worked through it, our relationship healed, and today we’re closer because we’ve both learned that grace has a place in parenting too.

I’m sharing one of my hardest parenting moments because I don’t want you to carry the same regret I did.

If this article helps even one parent choose calm instead of shame, then sharing one of my own mistakes will have been worth it.

Love. Boundaries. Accountability.

…Sometimes that accountability starts with us.

Comment

For years, I thought one of my boys was the problem. He argued about everything. He “forgot” his chores. He needed to be reminded constantly.

Every day felt like I was saying the same four sentences.

“Did you clean your room?”

“Take the trash out.”

“Get off your phone.”

“How many times do I have to ask?”

By bedtime, I was exhausted. Not because parenting is hard—which it is—but because I felt like I was managing little crises from the moment everyone woke up until they went to bed.

I remember thinking, Why can’t he just do what he’s supposed to do?

Maybe you’ve had that thought too.

Then one day, I asked myself a question that changed the way I parent forever.

What if my child isn’t actually the problem?

What if the problem is the way our family operates?

That question stung. Because it meant I had to stop looking at my child long enough to look at myself. I realized I had accidentally created a system where reminders had become normal.

If I reminded them enough times, eventually they’d do it. If I got frustrated enough, eventually I’d do it myself. If they argued long enough, sometimes I’d give in because I simply didn’t have the energy.

Without realizing it, I had trained my kids to wait for me.

Wait for the reminder.

Wait for the warning.

Wait until Mom gets serious.

The crazy part? I thought I was teaching responsibility. I was actually teaching dependence. That realization was humbling.

So we started changing things—not the kids, the system.

We stopped repeating ourselves so much. We made expectations predictable. If chores weren’t done, the Wi-Fi didn’t magically keep working because Mom was tired.

If responsibilities weren’t handled, privileges waited. Not because we wanted to punish our boys. Because we wanted our words to actually mean something.

And something amazing happened. Our home got quieter. Not perfect. Let’s not get carried away. I still live with teenage boys.

But there was less arguing. Less reminding. Less frustration. Because the system started doing the work I had been trying to do all by myself.

Now, whenever a parent tells me, “My child just won’t listen,” I don’t immediately think about the child. I wonder what the system looks like. Are the expectations clear? Are the consequences predictable? Does everyone know what happens next, or does it depend on how tired Mom is that day?

Those aren’t easy questions to ask ourselves. Trust me, I’ve been there. But I’ve learned something after raising boys for more than two decades…

Most kids don’t wake up every morning wondering how they can make our lives harder. They’re simply responding to the environment we’ve created.

And here’s the beautiful part.

If we created the system… We can change the system.

Sometimes the breakthrough we’ve been praying for doesn’t begin with changing our child.

It begins with changing the way our family works.

So, before you spend another week wondering what’s wrong with your child, ask yourself a different question:

What part of my family system needs to change?

You might be surprised by the answer.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment and tell me one thing you’d like to improve in your family’s system. Your story might be exactly what another parent needs to read today.

And if you know a parent who’s exhausted from repeating themselves, share this with them. Sometimes the encouragement we need isn’t that our child needs fixing—it’s the reminder that a few small changes at home can change everything.

Not because I expect a newspaper to tell me how to raise children, but because these conversations usually reveal something bigger about where our culture is headed.

Two days ago I read a New York Times piece asking whether American-style gentle parenting has spoiled French children.

My first thought?

I don’t think gentle parenting is the problem. I think our interpretation of it is.

Somewhere along the way, many parents began believing that being emotionally available meant avoiding discomfort. That boundaries were harmful. That consequences damaged self-esteem. That saying “no” required a ten-minute explanation. That every unpleasant emotion needed to be rescued instead of experienced.

And I think we’ve confused kindness with permissiveness. Those are not the same thing.

After raising boys for over two decades, I’ve learned something that became clearer with every stage of parenting:

Children don’t need parents who make life easy. They need parents who make adulthood possible.

Sometimes that means allowing disappointment. Sometimes it means letting them be frustrated. Sometimes it means saying no even when they’re upset. Sometimes it means requiring respect even when they don’t feel like giving it.

That isn’t harsh… That’s preparation.

One thing I’ve noticed is that many parenting conversations have become incredibly child-centered. We’re constantly asking: “How does my child feel?” That’s an important question. But it shouldn’t be the only one. We also have to ask: What kind of adult am I helping this child become?

Because the world they’re entering isn’t going to negotiate every inconvenience away. A future employer won’t reward excuses. A spouse won’t appreciate disrespect. A landlord won’t overlook irresponsibility. Life has standards. Our homes should prepare them for those standards, not shield them from them.

Now, to be clear, I don’t believe fear creates healthy families. I don’t believe humiliation teaches respect. I don’t believe screaming makes children stronger.

Children deserve love. They deserve affection. They deserve parents who listen. But they also deserve boundaries that actually mean something. Consequences that are consistent. And expectations that don’t disappear simply because they’re unpopular.

The parenting philosophy that’s worked best in my home has never been about control. It’s been about responsibility.

Love them deeply. Expect a lot from them. Teach them to contribute. Hold them accountable. Then keep loving them when they make mistakes. That’s the balance I believe many families are searching for.

So did American-style gentle parenting spoil French children?

I don’t know.

But I do think many parents—regardless of where they live—have become so afraid of upsetting their children that they’ve accidentally stopped preparing them for real life… And that’s a conversation worth having.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

What do you think we’ve gotten right about modern parenting… and what do you think we’ve lost along the way?

I bought the books. I asked questions. I took advice from family, friends, older parents…and yes, even complete strangers who somehow felt qualified to critique my parenting while standing in the frozen food aisle.

Some of that advice was genuinely helpful. Some of it sounded absolutely beautiful…until reality hit and I started to see things in a different light.

The longer I’ve been a mom, the more I’ve realized that some parenting advice sounds wonderful in theory but falls apart in real life.

After raising boys for the last 26 years, there are certain ideas I’ve quietly let go of. Not because they’re wrong. Simply because they didn’t work for my family.

Maybe they’ll work for yours. But I’ve stopped feeling guilty for choosing what actually produced the kind of young men I was hoping to raise.

Here are ten parenting lies I no longer fall for. By the way, I call them “lies” not because they’re always false, but because I believed them until real life taught me otherwise.

1. “Pick your battles.”

I understand what people mean.

You can’t fight over everything.

But somewhere along the way, I realized I was using that phrase as permission to ignore things simply because I was exhausted.

Respect. Honesty. Responsibility. Keeping your word… Those aren’t little things. Those are character things.

Eventually I stopped asking myself:

“Do I have the energy for this?”

Instead I started asking,

“If I ignore this every single time… who does my child become?”

That question alone completely changed the way I parented.

2. “They’re just kids.”

Yes! True.

And that’s exactly why it matters.

They’re practicing adulthood every single day. The child who leaves every mess for someone else to clean isn’t just being messy. They’re rehearsing habits.

The child who ignores people when they’re spoken to isn’t just having an off day. They’re practicing how they’ll treat people later.

Childhood isn’t a pause before life begins. It’s where life is learned.

3. “They’ll learn when they’re older.”

Maybe.

But I’ve met plenty of adults who simply got older.

Age and maturity aren’t the same thing.

Responsibility builds maturity, so do consequences, and being expected to contribute. Time alone doesn’t.

I’ve met forty-year-olds who still blame everyone else for every problem they’ve ever had.

Growing older is automatic.

Growing up isn’t.

4. “I just want my kids to be happy.”

I used to say this too.

It sounds loving.

Until you realize that some of the best things we do as parents make our kids completely unhappy in the moment.

Taking away a phone. Saying no. Making them replace something they intentionally broke. Holding them accountable… None of that feels good.

But I’ve never believed my job was to make my boys happy every day. My job was to help them become good men.

Sometimes those two things don’t happen at the same time.

5. “They know I love them.”

Maybe.

But I never wanted my boys to wonder.

I didn’t grow up hearing “I love you.” Maybe that’s why I became intentional about saying it constantly.

Not because they earned it. Not because they had a great day. Just because they’re mine.

I’ve learned that love isn’t something children should have to assume. They should hear it. They should feel it. They should never have to guess.

Because boundaries without affection create distance. And affection without boundaries creates confusion.

I believe children need both.

6. “Good parents never lose their patience.”

I finally gave myself permission to laugh at this one. LOL

I’m raising teenagers. I’m also human. Sometimes those two realities collide.

I’ve absolutely lost my patience. I’ve raised my voice. I’ve said things I wish I’d handled differently. But I’ve also apologized. I’ve owned it. I’ve asked for forgiveness.

I actually think those moments taught my boys something valuable. Not that Mom is perfect. But that mature adults take responsibility when they’re wrong.

7. “If they love you, they’ll listen.”

Oh goodness…

If only.

My boys have loved me deeply while completely ignoring advice I knew would save them trouble… Sometimes because a friend knew better. Sometimes because YouTube knew better. Sometimes because TikTok apparently produced the world’s leading parenting experts overnight.

Teenagers can love you with their whole heart and still think you’re completely wrong. I’ve stopped measuring our relationship by how often they agree with me.

I measure it by whether they still come back when life gets hard.

8. “Protect them from failure.”

I used to think good parenting meant preventing mistakes.

Now I think it means preparing them for them.

I’ve watched my boys forget assignments, waste money, miss opportunities, make decisions that made me want to intervene. But whenever the lesson wasn’t dangerous, I tried to let life teach it.

I learned when raising kids, sometimes natural consequences have a way of sticking far longer than lectures ever do.

9. “Everything is a teaching moment.”

I used to think every mistake deserved a conversation.

Now I know that’s not always true.

Sometimes they already know. Sometimes they’re embarrassed enough. Sometimes they’re hurting. And sometimes the lesson has already landed before I ever opened my mouth.

I’ve learned that timing matters. A child who’s overwhelmed rarely hears wisdom. Most of the time they just hear another voice talking.

10. “Good parenting looks the same in every family.”

This may be the biggest lie of them all.

I’ve raised boys under the same roof. The same parents. The same family. The same values. And they still needed different things.

One needed more conversation. One needed more structure. One learned best by experiencing the consequence instead of hearing about it.

That taught me something I’ll never forget… Parenting isn’t about finding one perfect method. It’s about paying close enough attention to know who your child actually is.

✨!✨

One Last Thought

The older I get, the less interested I become in parenting labels or trends.

I honestly don’t care whether someone calls my style gentle, firm, authoritative, old-school, or something else entirely.

What I care about is this…

Are my sons becoming men people can count on?

Can they apologize?

Can they keep their word?

Can they handle disappointment without blaming everyone else?

Can they contribute more than they consume?

When they’re forty years old, nobody is going to ask what parenting philosophy I followed. People will simply experience the kind of men they became.

That’s the only report card that matters to me and I’ve ever really cared about.

So these days, I try to keep parenting simple…

Love them deeply. Hold them accountable. Pay attention to who they are. And never be afraid to let go of advice that sounds beautiful but doesn’t actually help me raise the adults I’m hoping they’ll become.

…but I think I’m becoming a margarita girl.

Not the classic lime kind. I mean the colorful, beautiful, “I need to take a picture before I take a sip” kind.

For years, I was loyal to wine and champagne. Give me a good Cabernet, a classic Pinot Grigio or a glass of bubbly, and I was happy.

Then, last weekend, this Indigo Blossom Margarita caught my eye. I spotted someone at the bar drinking it and immediately thought, I need to know what that is.

Look at her.

Purple. Sparkly. A salted rim. A dried citrus wheel sitting on top like it knew it was the main character.

I ordered it because it was beautiful.

I’ll order it again because it was delicious.

Maybe that’s one of the unexpected gifts of getting older—you stop feeling like you have to stay loyal to the things you’ve always liked.

You become curious again. You try the cocktail with the impossible name. You book the luxury hotel. You wear the outfit you’ve been saving. You order dessert.

As moms, we get so good at creating joy for everyone else that we sometimes forget we’re allowed to create some for ourselves.

So if you happen to see me ordering pretty margaritas , don’t be surprised. I think I’ve officially claimed them as my new thing. I love that they’re playful without trying too hard, a little unexpected, and somehow make an ordinary dinner feel like a tiny celebration. Turns out, sometimes all it takes is one beautiful drink to remind you that it’s never too late to discover a new favorite.

So here’s your reminder:

Find your version of the Indigo Blossom Margarita. Whatever that looks like for you. Because life is too short to keep ordering the same thing…

…and I’m not just talking about margaritas😉.

One of the biggest mistakes parents make is only engaging with their teenagers when something goes wrong.

Correction.

Reminder.

Lecture.

Consequence.

Repeat…

“Did you do your homework?”

“Clean your room.”

“Get off your phone.”

“What were you thinking?”

If you added up every conversation you had with your teenager this week, how many were simply about enjoying them? Not fixing them. Not correcting them. Not reminding them. Just… enjoying them.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:

If the only time your teenager hears your voice is when you’re correcting them, eventually your voice becomes background noise. Not because they’re bad kids. But because your relationship has slowly become transactional.

You become the manager. They become the employee. Every conversation has an agenda. Every interaction feels like a performance review. And teenagers don’t open their hearts to people who only show up to evaluate them.

The Best Parenting Happens Side by Side

Teenagers rarely open up because you sat them at the kitchen table and announced, “We need to talk.” Those four words have probably ended more conversations than they’ve started.

But put them in the passenger seat. Start driving. Turn the music down just enough. Don’t force eye contact. Suddenly they’re telling you about the teacher they can’t stand. The friend who’s been acting differently. The girl they like. The mistake they’re afraid to admit…

It’s almost like the road gives them permission to be honest. Looking forward feels safer than looking someone in the eye. Some of the biggest parenting conversations I’ve ever had happened while we were both staring through a windshield.

Don’t Wait Until You Need The Relationship

My friends that are parents tell me all the time,“I just want my teenager to come to me when something serious happens.”

My answer is always the same: Why would they?

If every conversation feels like a correction, why would they choose you when life falls apart? Trust isn’t built during a crisis. It’s revealed during one. It’s built months… Sometimes years… Before it’s ever needed.

Every Starbucks run. Every family movie night. Every Target trip. Every grocery store errand. Every late-night snack because neither of you could sleep… Those aren’t meaningless moments. They’re deposits. You don’t even realize it but you’re quietly filling an emotional bank account.

Then one day life punches your teenager in the mouth. [A breakup. Peer pressure. Alcohol. Anxiety. A terrible decision. Failure. Shame.] That’s when they’ll make a withdrawal. And if you’ve spent years making deposits, they’ll know exactly where to go.

The Parenting Goal Nobody Talks About

Parents spend so much time trying to become someone their teenagers will listen to. But I think we should spend more time becoming someone they want to talk to. Those are two very different things.

Rules still matter. Consequences still matter. Accountability absolutely matters. But those things work best when they’re built on top of a relationship that’s already strong.

We need to have more ordinary moments with our kids because ordinary moments build extraordinary trust.

When teenagers know they’re loved outside of their mistakes, they’re far more willing to hear the truth about them. That’s why I believe relationships are built before they’re tested.

✔️ Build the bridge now.

One day your teenager is going to need to cross it. The only question is whether you’ve spent enough ordinary moments building it.

✨!✨

One Small Shift This Week

Don’t ask your teenager a single question during one car ride this week. Just drive. Point out something ridiculous. Tell them about your day. Laugh at something together. Let the silence exist.

You might be surprised who starts talking first.

One day they wanted to talk for hours, the next day they acted like my presence was personally offensive. One day I was the smartest person they’d ever met, the next day I knew absolutely nothing about life.

I spent years wondering if I was doing enough. Being too strict, not strict enough. Talking too much, talking too little. Helping too much, not helping enough.

And if I could go back and give younger me one piece of advice, it would be this:

Your teenager is not a problem to solve. They’re a person to guide.

Stop Parenting Every Mistake Like It’s An Emergency

One of the biggest mistakes I see parents make is treating every teenage mistake like a five-alarm fire.

Your daughter forgets an assignment.

Your son misses curfew.

They fail a test.

They date someone you don’t approve of.

And suddenly we act like their entire future is hanging by a thread.

A few years ago, one of my sons forgot about a major school project. Not because he was irresponsible. Not because he didn’t care. Because he was fourteen. The project was due the next morning. At 9:30 p.m., panic hit. There were tears. Stress. A desperate search for supplies. And eventually the question every parent hears:

“Can you help me?”

Old me would have stayed up half the night fixing the situation, but new me handed him the supplies and said:

“I’ll sit here with you. But this is your project, not mine.”

He stayed up late and poor thing was exhausted the next day. But guess what? He never forgot another major project again. Not because I lectured him but because life taught him.

Parents often think our job is preventing mistakes. Sorry to break it to you… It isn’t. Our job is making sure mistakes become lessons.

Your Teenager Is Practicing Adulthood

Think about that for a minute…They’re practicing… Literally.

Nobody expects a beginner piano player to sound like a concert pianist. Nobody expects someone learning to drive to be perfect. Yet parents often expect teenagers to make adult decisions with very little adult experience.

They’re going to make mistakes. They’re going to choose the wrong friend sometimes. They’re going to spend money on dumb things. They’re going to ignore good advice. Sometimes they’re going to learn things the hard way. Just like we did.

My first car broke down because I ignored warning signs. My first credit cards taught me a painful lesson about spending and how filing bankruptcy is something I don’t ever want to do again. My first relationship taught me things no parent could have explained. Experience is a teacher none of us escape.

Our kids won’t either!

What Teenagers Actually Need

Most teenagers don’t need perfect parents.They need predictable ones. Parents whose values don’t change based on their mood and whose rules make sense. They also need parents who can stay calm when life gets messy.

And you know what else they desperately need? Parents who can separate a bad decision from a bad kid. That’s crucial!

A teenager who lies made a bad choice; that doesn’t make them a liar. A teenager who fails a class had a bad outcome; they’re not a failure. A teenager who gets caught doing something stupid is still capable of becoming an incredible adult.

Never confuse who they are with what they did.

For The Parent Lying Awake Tonight

Maybe you’re reading this after another difficult day. Maybe your teenager rolled their eyes at you seventeen times before dinner. Maybe they ignored your advice. Maybe they tested every ounce of patience you had left. Maybe you’re wondering if any of this is working.

I want you to hear this…

The goal isn’t to raise teenagers who never make mistakes.

✔️ The goal is to raise adults who learn from them.

Those are two very different goals. One creates anxious parents. The other creates resilient kids. Your home doesn’t need to be perfect. Your parenting doesn’t need to be perfect.

What your teenager needs most is a home where love and accountability coexist. A place where mistakes have consequences. A place where truth matters. A place where respect matters. A place where they can fail, learn, recover, and try again. A safe place to land when life inevitably humbles them.

And if you’re providing that, you’re doing better than most of us out here.

One day your teenager will become an adult and they’ll repeat something you used to say. One day they’ll make a decision based on a value you worked hard to teach. One day they’ll thank you for something they currently argue about. And on that day you’ll realize something beautiful.

They were listening after all…Just not when you thought they were.

✨!✨

Hi, I’m Carli. Drawing from 26 years of experience raising boys, I share practical tips, systems, and strategies centered around love, boundaries, and responsibility. Join the community and let’s learn, grow, and support one another as we raise confident, responsible kids who are ready for the real world.