As soon as my daughter transitioned from 12 to 13, she made her feelings clear with a sign on her bedroom door: “PRIVATE. DO NOT ENTER!!!!!” Decorated with bright, fruity markers and daisy stickers, the multiple exclamation points left no room for misinterpretation.
Throughout her seventh-grade year, the messages evolved, becoming more inventive. A fan of Dr. Who, she hung a sign proclaiming, “Enter at Your Own Risk: Guarded by Daleks.” Another post featured a comic list of imaginative, Edward Gorey-style punishments for anyone daring to cross the threshold.
Although she never explicitly complained when I entered—albeit sometimes without knocking—the signs signified her journey into adolescence. Her room had transformed into a “Room of Her Own,” Junior Edition.
Initially, I felt a pang of sadness, realizing I was being distanced from the idyllic days of her childhood. But then it struck me: I want my daughters to have their own space. We are incredibly fortunate to have each other and the solitude we sometimes crave. As the saying goes, good fences make good neighbors, and a few closed doors can enhance our family’s harmony.
My older daughter adopted this practice two and a half years earlier, shutting her door every night before bed. There were times I found myself knocking impatiently, sometimes even pounding angrily when she didn’t respond—especially since she still relied on me to wake her each morning. I often wondered, “How can you lock me out yet need so much from me?” The question I never voiced was, “Why wouldn’t you want my company?”
However, with my second daughter, I embrace the locked doors and those emphatically punctuated signs with a sense of ease. Having been through it once, I’ve seen my first daughter navigate through the awkward phases of adolescence. Now approaching 17, she no longer finds me embarrassing. Instead, she’s polite and sweet, and my feelings aren’t hurt when she insists on her space.
Moreover, my second daughter shares my passion for writing. She often spends entire afternoons crafting the beginnings of a fantasy story featuring a blue-haired alien version of Cinderella. At her age, she excels at starting stories, though finishing them remains a work in progress. She even writes song lyrics inspired by heartbreaks she hasn’t yet experienced, along with poems that flow endlessly.
So when she retreats to her room, I recognize that she’s not just escaping from me; she’s finding herself. Like Virginia Woolf suggested decades ago, a woman (even a young one) who writes needs a sanctuary for her imagination to thrive.
I get it, as I also search for quiet corners to write—away from chores and work emails. The entire house belongs to us, a blessing I deeply cherish. Yet, there are days I long for a single room dedicated solely to my writing, rather than a house filled with responsibilities. If I had that space, I’d put up a sign in bold letters: “KEEP OUT! WRITER AT WORK!!!!!!!!!” No daisy stickers there.
I still occasionally intrude on my daughters’ realms, but with gained experience, my judgment has improved. I know when to enforce rules without regret: Yes, you must help with dinner cleanup. Yes, you need to fold your laundry. And no, binge-watching New Girl can wait until homework is done.
But I’ve also learned the value of allowing them to be alone for hours, as they see fit.
In just two years, my firstborn will graduate from high school. In five years, my youngest will be turning 19. Eventually, they will carve out their own spaces in the world, taking down the signs as they grow into their independent selves. Without daughters to wake and remind about chores, I’ll find ample time to write.
Yet, I know I’ll miss those signs on their doors.