PARENTING TEENS THROUGH MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES—LEARNING TO LET GO WITHOUT LOSING YOURSELF | EP. 231
Welcome to the Almost Empty Nest Podcast, where we moms of teens and college kids reframe what letting go really means to feel more connected, confident, and at peace. I'm your host, Master Coach Jennifer Collins.
If you have a big kid who's struggling with their mental health, it's very likely that you often find yourself lying awake at night, wondering if you're doing enough. When your child isn't okay, it doesn't just worry you. It can take over your thoughts, your energy, and your sense of peace. You do everything you can, and you still question yourself. In this episode, I'm exploring how to carry the weight of your child's mental health struggle without losing yourself in it. I'll talk about what happens when fear and guilt get tangled up with love, and we'll explore whether the way you're defining enough is actually helping you or exhausting you. If you're holding this weight right now, I see you. So let's dive in.
Hello, my friend.
I have had so many moms come to me and tell me, my big kid is struggling with their mental health, and I don't know if I'm doing enough to help them. That is such a heavy weight.
There are an alarming number of teens and young adults who are struggling with their mental health right now. So we have good reason to fear this possibility with our kids. And even more than that, many of us are not just fearing it, we're living it.
I've worked with moms whose kids suffer from anxiety or depression, kids who struggle with substance abuse, eating disorders, some who've experienced really dark thoughts or moments where their safety became a real concern. This isn't fiction. This is the reality of the world we're living in right now and the challenges our kids are facing.
And if you're experiencing this with your child right now, I want you to know that I see you. So many of the moms I speak to every day are carrying this weight, trying to figure out the right way to support their child, feeling anxiety about where this all could lead, and maybe even knowing their child might need more help, but not knowing how to get them to take it. Before I go any further, I want to be clear that I am not a therapist.
I don't diagnose and I don't treat. And the work I do with my clients is never about getting involved in the specifics of anyone's mental health treatment or even telling them what decisions they should make. If you feel your child needs professional support, please seek it.
And my guess is, if you're listening to a podcast like this, you are already doing that. In fact, if your child is struggling in any way, you've probably been racking your brain for as long as this has been going on, trying to find answers and solutions. You've researched and talked to your kid about getting help, maybe even medication.
You may even be years into the struggle, living in that space where things can feel okay for a little while, but you're always waiting for the next crisis, waiting for your child to go from okay to not. So this episode isn't about what you should do for your child. It's about you.
It's about the emotional toll this takes on us as moms. Because the reality is, it does take a toll. I was talking to a mom the other day and she so beautifully and vulnerably described what this has been like for her.
And as she was talking, an image came to my mind. It's like we're standing on the edge of a pool of water and we see our child struggling to keep their head above water. They might even dip below the surface for a moment.
We know they need help. When they were little, we could just jump in or grab their hand and pull them out. But as they grow up, it's different.
Now we're standing on the edge of water and we're throwing in lifelines. We're throwing these ropes, tossing in life vests, therapy, treatment, medication. We fill the water around our child with every possible form of support we can find.
And we still can't control whether they grab the lifelines we're throwing them. When they do, we feel a sense of relief. Maybe this is it.
Maybe this is the thing that will help. Sometimes they take the help for a while. They seem better because they're on medication or seem to be working well with this therapist.
They're back in school, reengaging with their life. And then things change again. And sometimes our kids ignore the lifelines all together or tell us it was the wrong lifeline or we threw it wrong or they'll tell us we're the reason they're in the water in the first place.
And then there we are, standing on the edge, watching someone we love more than anything else in the world struggle. I don't think there's a mother alive who doesn't feel the powerlessness and the fear of that image. It's powerlessness combined with a warrior's refusal to never give up, to keep doing something.
One of the things that breaks my heart is how many moms in this position feel like they're doing it wrong. It's not only hard to navigate and find the right answers, to find the support that will actually help, but you can also feel this sense of disbelief. Like, how did we get here? How is this possible? It's confusing and frustrating when your kid pushes back against your help.
And even more, it's hurtful if they accuse you of being part of the problem. You can feel anxious and even angry when they refuse the support you're fighting so hard to give them. It's so hard not to take the blame.
As moms, we try so hard to support our kids in every way possible. We're carrying our own guilt when they struggle already. And then if your kid accuses you of being part of the problem, it just amplifies that feeling.
But hear me when I say, if your child is struggling, that doesn't mean that you're the reason they're struggling. There are so many factors that contribute to mental health. Biological, hormonal, societal, social.
The world our kids are growing up in is so incredibly different than the world we grew up in. And yet, because therapy often includes exploring childhood experiences, and because our kids sometimes interpret their pain through that lens as they try to make sense of it, these facts only add to the enormous weight of the guilt we're already feeling. And that guilt is so heavy.
We can't help but replay the past in our minds. What could I have done differently? Should I have seen this coming? Did I miss something? And when we're going down those rabbit holes, our minds can be relentless. The hard truth is, of course we influence our kids.
And none of us are perfect. I know I'm not. I can think of plenty of times when I showed up with my boys in ways I'm not proud of.
There are times when I missed signs or misinterpreted what they needed. On the one hand, I think it's a strength we carry as moms that we're willing to take accountability, because we want to be the best we can for our kids. But influence is not the same as total responsibility.
Human beings are not math equations. And you can see that when comparing siblings. One child might struggle with anxiety, and the other doesn't.
One battles addiction, and the other doesn't. Same environment, different wiring, different temperament, different life experiences. Mental health is layered.
It's biological, environmental, and it's also impacted by the world we're living in now, the pressures, the comparisons, the constant stimulation, all of it. It's never one straight line from something my mom did to this is why I struggle. And yet it can be so easy for our minds to go to, it must be me, this must be my fault.
My friend, if your child is struggling, and if there is even a small part of you that believes you had something to do with it, this guilt and the weight of this responsibility often amplifies the pressure we feel to try to fix it. Because if I caused it, I can't rest until I make it okay. And that's where I see so many moms struggling, stuck in this constant state of vigilance, monitoring their child for signs they're okay, bracing themselves for the next episode or outburst, trying to stay one step ahead so that they can be prepared if it happens again.
So these moms are constantly working to find solutions, new ways of getting them to take the support we're offering. The truth is we're scared. We love our kids so much and would do anything to pull them out.
But here's the part that's so painful. No matter how many lifelines you throw in the water, you still can't make your child grab one. You can schedule the appointments, you can even drive them there, pay for the treatment, sit in the waiting room.
You can even make decisions they don't like because you know that it's necessary. But you can't do the healing for them. And that's the part that can feel unbearable.
Because like I said when they were little, it felt like you could fix things. You could kiss that scraped knee or step in and make it better. Now that your child is older, your efforts don't have the same impact.
We can only influence and guide their support to the extent they're willing to take that support from us. So here we are standing on the edge of that pool of water, feeling powerless, feeling like we don't know how to help. What I've also seen in so many moms in this situation is this feeling of grief as you grapple with the loss of the life you imagined for your child.
We raise our kids with this hope that our kids will grow up and they'll thrive, that they'll feel confident and stable and at peace with themselves. We know life won't be perfect, but we don't imagine this. We don't imagine a life where they're struggling so much.
So we can grieve the ease we hoped our kid would have. We grieve the simplicity of the life we imagined for them, actually for them and for us. How are they going to make their way in life? How are they ever going to overcome this? So if you're holding on to this grief while still fighting for your child, still believing there's something you can do to make it easier for them, to recapture the hope of that dream where life is simpler, not as challenging, that combination of grief and determination, of fear and love and powerlessness and fierce commitment, it is so beautiful and exhausting.
But my friend, all of it makes so much sense. It's driven by the love we feel for our kids and the responsibility we take on as moms. So the question really becomes, how do you stand on the edge of that pool of water without losing yourself in the process? I think something that's important to recognize is that when you sense that your kid is struggling, no matter in what way, our bodies register that as a threat.
Our nervous systems are triggered by that thought, my child isn't safe, at a very primal level. So you essentially find yourself in fight or flight anytime they're struggling. You're ready, you're on alert, you're scanning, you're problem solving, bracing for impact.
But the problem becomes when you stay in that state for too long. And that is often the reality when our kids are struggling with big challenges that don't have easy answers, because we're constantly in this vigilant state. And the impact of that is we can start to believe that if we relax even a little bit, something terrible will happen.
It can feel like our vigilance and this constant tension or pressure we're putting on ourselves is protective. That our anxiety is, in fact, what's holding everything together. And so we don't let ourselves rest.
Somewhere within us is this thought, how can I be okay when my child isn't? And I want to gently challenge that. Because your child's struggle does not require your constant suffering. And the truth is, your vigilance also doesn't guarantee their healing.
It's also interesting to acknowledge that your love is also not measured by how exhausted you are. Your love is measured by how you choose to show up. And what's amazing is how often we tell ourselves that what we're doing, that it's not enough.
Even after all of the research and the appointments and the doctors and the boundaries, the months and years of trying to support your big kid, even after all of that, there can be this voice in your head that says, you should be doing more, that it's not enough. And I think we need to get really honest about that voice. Because if you're constantly telling yourself it's not enough, then you will never let yourself rest.
You will always be scanning for what you missed, looking for the next strategy. It will quite literally never feel like enough. But have you ever stopped to really ask yourself what enough would even look like? Would it mean your child never struggled again? Or that they would do whatever you say? Follow the doctor's advice exactly? Would it mean that they're stable all the time and grateful for your help? Because if that's the definition, then my friend, enough is always going to feel just out of reach.
Here's something I don't think we often let ourselves acknowledge. You are already doing something extraordinary. As moms, we tend to focus our mental energy on how we can help, asking what else can I try or what else haven't I considered.
And that drive to keep finding solutions and answers is such a deeply maternal instinct. We would go to the ends of the earth to fight for our kids, for their safety and well-being, for their opportunity to self-actualize. Just think about how many people in this world don't have someone who would do that for them.
Think about how many people are struggling alone. And your child, no matter how frustrated they are with you, no matter how much they push back, they have someone who refuses to give up on them. That's you.
You are doing the hard work, having conversations that are uncomfortable and scary, being the one who's strong when your big kid can't be, holding space for the outbursts and the meltdowns, being patient when most people would have lost their minds already. You're willing to make hard decisions, to keep encouraging your big kid to take care of themselves. It is a daily uphill climb.
And every morning, you get up and you do it again. This, my friend, is everything. You keep showing up and trying and looking for support, advocating for your child.
And yet, you tell yourself it's not enough. Because notwithstanding all of your efforts, you feel powerless. You fight so hard for your kid, but you can't force them to change or get better.
You are a fiercely devoted champion, and yet you still have no power to control your kid's journey. It's so easy to fall into the trap of measuring whether you've done enough by whether the outcomes for your kid change. But in doing that, you miss the power of what you are actually doing.
Look, we know that our kids are going to struggle. Intellectually, we know that. We know there's going to be heartbreak and disappointment, but we very often don't imagine this kind of struggle.
We don't imagine depression that our child can't break free from. We can't fathom that our baby is falling prey to addiction or anxiety that paralyzes them. The truth is, as moms, we don't carry the weight of responsibility to help our kids manage their mental health.
We can also be carrying the grief of the picture we had in our mind of how our kid's life was supposed to go, the version of their life that felt easier. What you might not realize is that as you're grieving that version of their life, you're also trying so hard to save it. You're throwing lifelines not only because you want them to be safe today, but because you don't want to let go of that dream of them thriving.
You don't want this to be the story. And when you're in that space, your brain can start to confuse support and responsibility for the outcome. You absolutely can and should do everything you can to help your big kid, but you cannot live their life for them.
My friend, there is actually a big difference between letting go of the outcome and letting go of who you are as their mom. Letting go of the outcome does not mean you stop loving your child, or that you stop advocating for them, or doing everything you can in your power to do. It simply means you let go of the belief that you can control how their life unfolds.
You can do everything you can, but you can't force the timeline of their growth or their healing. And as hard as that is, understanding the difference is everything. Because this is what truly allows you to define what is enough and find peace.
I want to share a story that doesn't relate to mental health, but does touch on this topic. When my sister was a teenager, she battled leukemia. She went through a bone marrow transplant, and we were so hopeful it would be the thing that saved her.
And then she relapsed. The doctors told us they'd never done a second bone marrow transplant before, and the odds of her survival seemed, in that moment, incredibly small. I remember asking my mom, what do we do if this doesn't work? What if we lose her? And without hesitation, my mom said, we're going to miss her.
That moment has stuck with me, and at this point it's been 35 years since that happened. There was no world in which my mom was going to stop fighting for my sister. But she also understood, even in the depths of that fear, that there were things that she could not control.
Thinking back on this conversation now, I also recognize that one of the reasons my mother was able to so clearly understand the limits of her power is that she didn't blame herself for my sister's diagnosis. When it comes to mental health, we don't always give ourselves that same grace. Because it so often feels relational, as if our kids' mental health is somehow a result of something we've done or missed.
But the truth is, just like physical illness, there are limits to what we can control. And acknowledging those limits isn't weakness, it's reality. And the more you can ground yourself in that reality, the more steady you become.
You are your child's champion, and you cannot heal them. That is their work. And maybe defining enough isn't about whether they're out of the water yet, but about acknowledging that no matter what, you are standing on the bank, loving your child fiercely, while trusting that they will have to do some of the swimming on their own.
My friend, if you're listening to this and thinking, I don't know how to stand on that bank without collapsing, that is the work we do inside of Mom 2.0. This program isn't about fixing your child. Instead, it's designed to help you untangle your guilt from love. To empower you to decide what's enough, and to stay grounded in that, even when everything feels hard and uncertain.
My friend, you are not failing because your child is struggling, but you are a mom standing on the edge of something terrifying, and you have not walked away. What if enough is simply acknowledging that you are still fighting, still doing everything you can, loving your child? What if you could trust that being that constant champion is the most powerful thing you can offer?
Until next time.
If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love for you to check out my next free masterclass. There's a link in the show notes. You have more power than you think, my friend.
