A few days after G turned 12.5, the axis of our world shifted. The stakes rose and the emotional temperature did too. How we navigated seventh grade is a book of its own, a preview of coming attractions. When she turned 13, we experienced a rapprochement, albeit part of a super intense year of homeschooling, un-schooling, and a new school. Then, just before 14, the full-length feature began. It started externally with our communication system still intact, but over the year it evolved into testing of limits, full-blown separation, and the breakdown of our previously strong dynamic.

When all of this kicked into high gear, a feeling I recognized as grief settled into my bones, but what is distinct about this experience is its lack of a known conclusion. How will we wind up in the end? How long will it take? Will we have a meaningful connection five or ten years from now? While grieving this (expected) loss, we still breathe, interact, and inflict fresh wounds on each other.

Surrendering attachment recalls aspects of my emotional process as X and I broke up. The middle third of my life was devoted to X’s welfare or to something degrees-connected to it (working in his industry, then for his company, renovating and maintaining our house). There was nothing horribly wrong when we ended our marriage; we were simply setting each other free. In the early months after our split, so many thoughts started with X, and I had to learn to edit them, except with a few friends who understood my need to flood my chatter with his name. Until I didn’t.

At times now, I’m overwhelmed with memories of G’s childhood, and some days it feels impossible to escape our most recent painful episode no matter what I do. The past third of my life was devoted to G’s welfare or to something degrees-connected to it (volunteering for her school, doing projects, keeping house, even drawing lessons). I did it all knowingly, with consciousness and awareness of the fleeting nature of our time together. I did it with one foot in self-discovery and re-parenting. This is who I am. Someone who gives her heart to meaningful connections and the few she loves, even if their departure is an understood destination. Seize every moment. One day this will end.

Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief apply both losses, but parenting a teen feels more to me like a game of roulette than a healing process. Where will be ball land next? When will it stop? Where will I be when it does? Your guess is as good as mine.

When I think things are settling for a moment, the wheel spins again, and I find myself scrambling to get my bearings. Every moment presents differently, and I must adjust my response accordingly.

Roulette or otherwise, I’ve noticed that my mindset tends to fall into one of the DABDA categories, customized with anxiety/guilt somewhere on the road toward acceptance. I tend to land in anxiety/guilt often, but the classics ring true as well:

D – Denial – What did that mean? Surely she didn’t intend to be as hurtful as she sounded? Does she really think that of me? Of us? How could she not seem to care?

A – Anger – How dare she say/do that? Don’t I even get an acknowledgment from her? Why won’t she listen/respond/react/check her texts?

B – Bargaining – If I do something nice for her, will she be nicer to me? If I do something nice for others, will that help? What about healing minerals or crystals? Or going to church?

D – Depression – When you let someone go, how do you know they’ll ever return? Am I reaping the spoils of pain I inflicted on my mother? Do I deserve to be hurt? Am I as weak as I feel right now? How can I survive this?

A – Anxiety/Guilt – Is she ok? Will she be ok? Is there something I should be doing or should have done differently? Is it because of the divorce, not having more children, being a single parent, living far from family, being too liberal, trusting her too much, not trusting her enough?

A – Acceptance – I have no control. This is her journey. I’m doing the best I can with the information I have. This too shall pass. This is what it is to parent, to let go, to love, to be human.

The DABDA roulette. So it spins.

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Thinking more about this concept, this roulette metaphor reflects how little impact I feel like I have on each situation.

While it’s true that I don’t know when the wheel will spin or how I will feel when it lands, I guess my response probably should not be a case of roulette. But it has been thus far.

I am trying to “go high,” but there is something about each teenage-moment that makes me dizzy, and I don’t know where I will land. I have my ideas about doing mountain pose and saying a mantra. I try that when I can. I coach myself. But inevitably the next scenario sends me spinning again.

Maybe my goal should be for every spin to land me on acceptance… not for me to expect my world to stop spinning.

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To you readers with older children: did you get better at navigating the teens as they aged? Or did it always seem tricky until they aged out of it or moved on? Does this roulette metaphor speak to you? Any pearls of wisdom to offer?

To all my lovely readers: If you wish to join our (secret) FB page, please contact me and I will add you.

Thank you!