A letter to my adolescent daughter (From a mother who gets it, Mostly).

I will stop kissing you in public. Maybe. 

 My dear daughter, 

 This letter is for you to know your mothers’s side of the story. 

I know this age makes you feel that nobody understands you. Trust me, I do understand that feeling. I’ve been through it myself and so has every parent in this world. We reached adulthood only after going through adolescence. 

Honestly, some of us are still partly there. 

We have similarities. But we have differences too. 

Unlike you, I did not find everything that my parents did, like trying to kiss you in public or waving you goodbye when we spot you on a tram, embarrassing or shameful. I didn’t find it shameful because I did not have those opportunities. I didn’t have parents who kissed me or waved goodbyes. This isn’t to say that they didn’t love me. They just loved me in very different, subtle ways. 

As they say today, their love language wasn’t physical touch. I wasn’t embarrassed because my parents always behaved in a way that their world had taught them they should. 

I have unlearnt the 'shoulds'.

When my arms were your comfort, publicly.

 

I apologise to you for making you feel uncomfortable in front of your friends. I would try to do it lesser, but I won’t change, my child. I have worked very hard to have the voice that I now possess. I hope someday you find yours too.

You already show signs of it- when you argue about your desire to carry your phone to school, or about never needing to clean your room. Even if we have spoken about it five hundred and eighty seven times, you go on and on. Let me confess: no matter how it seems on the outside, Baba and me are internally high-fiving for the fact that you have a voice that you aren’t afraid to use. Yes, we do also realise that we have dug our own grave, but we have learnt to crawl out of it on most days. 

I apologise for the days when we can’t, when we loose patience and tell you that this topic is closed for discussion. I don’t want to shut you down. I understand your needs, I just don’t agree with them. The adolescent part of me gets it. The adult just doesn’t give in. 

When I say, I can’t listen to it anymore, it isn’t a reflection on you or your arguments. It is about my lack of patience to explain, even when I am empathic. 

I don’t show it, but I am thrilled when you are selective about your friends, even though I may not approve of all your choices. At least I know that some of our lessons have landed. 

I know you believe you would never be caught sharing my love for bright colours. You prefer what your generations defines as ‘aesthetic colours.’ When I see you in your beige sweater and denims, trust me, you look gorgeous to me. 

But a part of me remembers the little girl who insisted on buying the glitteriest of skirts and everything with rainbows on it. 

I miss her, that version of you. I know it’s not fair on you because you are meant to grow. 

So you can disapprove of all my colour choices. I hope life will bring you to a point where you appreciate colours in your clothing as much as you do in your paints. 

I know you lie to me. 

I can see the signs, no thanks to Kant and Erickson for taking the masala out of parenting here, but thanks to them, I understand that this you showing agency. Testing boundaries. Still, the mother in me hurts. Because like all mothers, I sometimes believe that if I avoid the mistakes of the previous generation, my child will somehow be different. 

But if life has taught me anything, it’s this: 

parenting is pattern completion. The outcomes only vary because every generation of parents ruin their children in slightly different ways. Life is a circle, and we’re all moving through ours. 

I just hope that at the end of this circle, you circle back to me- to the exact place you left from - after growing your own wings. 

I know that I’m delusional enough to believe what we have is special. I know that you like to spend time with me, at least for now. I know you like travelling with me, even though you might not want to do everything I want to. 

I see your maturity and thoughtfulness in the most natural yet unexpected ways. Your empathy and awareness sometimes surprise me. 

I know you are proud of me. You show it in action. 

 I know that we will finish the circle and meet each other again. My arms would still be open to hug you and kiss you in public, but I wait for a time when you don’t find it embarrassing anymore. 

Until then, let me love you loudly- even if you roll your eyes while I do. 

 Love, 

 Amma 

 Dear Reader, if this resonates with you, I would love to know how you are navigating…