Dear Emily,
My firstborn, my precious girl. The bundle of joy we wished for, the light that brightens our days. It feels like just yesterday you were a tiny toddler, chasing after the cat with all your might. And now, here you are, confidently gripping the steering wheel of my SUV, learner’s permit in your pocket, ready to conquer that three-point turn. You’re thriving in your honors classes and nurturing your incredible gift of a beautiful singing voice.
Reflecting on my teenage years, I used to believe my parents were overly strict. I thought I was being suffocated by curfews, endless questions about my plans, and their concerns regarding my homework and grades. But now that I’m walking in their shoes as a parent of a teenager, I realize they weren’t strict; they were simply scared. Just like I am. Terrified.
You’re on the brink of becoming an independent woman, yet you’re still my 16-year-old who belts out Disney songs on your iPhone and still finds comfort in your childhood Blankie. You still laugh heartily at your friends’ texts, and occasionally, you curl up on my lap for a good cry, even if it’s a bit cramped now.
What awaits you in this vast world outside? It’s filled with so much uncertainty. As a parent, I impose limits to keep you safe. You might see it as a hindrance to your freedom. You want to ride with a teen driver? I worry about the unpredictable drivers out there. You want to go out on your boyfriend’s boat for a holiday weekend? My concern isn’t about you or him; it’s about the reckless people on the water. You want to attend a party at a house where we don’t know the parents? There are all types of parents, including those who might let their kids indulge in alcohol—or worse.
It’s not about trust. You are a strong young lady who has faced challenges many adults might struggle to overcome. Your resilience and capacity for growth are remarkable. Your heart is enormous, brimming with empathy and kindness.
I want to protect you, to wrap you in a warm cocoon of love and comfort. The thought of letting you venture into the world is daunting. When you were little and fell on the playground, you would rush to me for comfort. Now, my fears have evolved. I worry about who you might turn to for comfort when life gets tough. Predators, parties, alcohol, drugs, drunk drivers—the list is endless.
But while I long to shield you, I also recognize the importance of your growth and experiences. I genuinely want you to have fun and enjoy time with your friends. But it’s a struggle to let go. You want to go straight to your friend’s house after school for a sleepover, but part of me wants you to come home first just to see your face, to know that despite the eye rolls and teenage sighs, you still love your dorky mom.
I know you’re not quite an adult yet and need boundaries. However, I sometimes find myself feeling unappreciated when you don’t react as I hope. Should I expect you to express gratitude every time I do something for you? Teenagers can be wonderfully self-absorbed. In those moments, I need to remind myself that I’m not seeking acknowledgment; I’m doing this because I’m your mother.
In just two years, you’ll be off to college. The thought takes my breath away, leaving a lump in my throat. You won’t be here, and I won’t see you getting off the high school bus. I won’t be able to sneak upstairs on a Saturday morning and ask if you’re sleeping your life away. You’ll be off starting a new chapter, filled with growth, learning, love, and all the experiences that come with it.
I want you to embrace life, to meet new people, to learn and be challenged. I wish I could magically rewind the clock to when your dad and I were your everything—your source of knowledge, comfort, and love. (Secretly, I’d love for you to take those online college courses from home. “Go to college in pajamas!” they say. You can stay here as long as you like—well, maybe until you’re 30!)
Remember, my dear daughter, everything I do comes from a place of love. Curfews aren’t meant to be cruel; they’re to ease my worries about when you’ll be home. I ask about school and grades because I want you to achieve your potential. I don’t expect perfection, just your best effort, driven by that primal, unconditional love I hold for you.
One of my dad’s favorite songs was “Teach Your Children” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. It always moved him to tears, and now that I’m a mother, it does the same to me. Here are some lyrics that resonate with what I’m trying to express:
“Teach your children well
Their father’s hell did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick’s, the one you’ll know by
Don’t you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.”
So, my daughter, look at me and sigh, and know that I love you.