WHEN PARENTING TEENS BREAKS YOUR HEART—LETTING GO WHEN YOU CAN’T CONTROL THE OUTCOME | EP. 243
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.
There is a moment in motherhood that no one prepares you for. When your big kid is struggling or making choices that you don't agree with, and you realize you can't stop it, you can't fix it, you can't control it, and somehow the harder you try, the worse it feels. If you've ever felt that mix of love, fear, frustration, and heartbreak all at once, I want you to know that you're not alone. Because today, I'm sharing a personal story from one of the hardest seasons I've had as a mom. And I'm also going to share the shift that helped me stop pushing my child away, actually stay connected with him through the challenge, and become stronger in the process. So let's dive in.
Hello, my friend. I'm sitting in paradise right now, and I'm missing my sons. It's actually the first spring break my husband and I have taken without them in 20 years.
When you have kids, spring break becomes this time where you arrange your whole life around being together, around creating memories and having fun or just being a family. And now, here we are, just the two of us. We came back to a place we visited years ago.
It's a small, remote island in the British Virgin Islands. As we got on the boat to come over, I was flooded with memories. Memories of being here with my boys and what that time felt like, of who we were as a family at that time.
And I guess I shouldn't be surprised that so many of those memories made me feel incredibly nostalgic and also made me miss my boys so much. They both, of course, have their own spring break plans, their own lives that they're living. And I'm so happy for them, truly.
I'm so grateful for the full, independent lives that they're living. And there's also this moment, I think every mom reaches it, where you realize their lives are no longer intertwined with yours in the same way. They're off living their lives.
In fact, they both took off on spring break with their friends from school, and it's exactly as it should be. But it's also a little unsettling. Being back here in this place has brought me face to face not just with those many memories of spring break, but a very specific memory.
Something that happened here that was the beginning of an incredibly painful time with my son, although I didn't know it at the time. Looking back, I realize it was also the beginning of me having to learn one of the hardest lessons of parenting big kids, that there are moments where you cannot protect your child, no matter how much you love them. All this happened four years ago over spring break.
At the time, I still believed, like I think many of us do, that I was in charge, that I had some control. I thought that if I was on top of things and said the right things, that I could help guide my boys in the right direction. At the time, my oldest was a junior in high school and my youngest was a freshman.
My relationship at the time with both of my boys was very close, although in different ways. My oldest trusted me. He shared a lot with me about what was going on in his life and his friendships, what he was thinking and struggling with.
And in many ways, that felt really good. But I'll be honest, it was also stressful. Because when you feel like you have access to your child's inner world, it can create this sense of responsibility.
Like now that you know you need to help, you need to somehow guide them through the hardest parts of life. But you find that you don't always have the answers. I remember so clearly sitting out by the water four years ago, here in the same place.
My son was navigating some new experiences in his life. He was sharing his thoughts about all of it and I was freely offering my advice. Because I definitely had opinions.
And at the time, he was open to them. I certainly didn't solve anything for him, but I felt like I had a role. I felt like he was listening.
So even though I was worried, I thought I was helping. But then I remember so clearly, my son came up to me one night and said, Mom, can I talk to you for a second? And there was something about the way he said it that put me on edge. Because it felt different.
So we sat down and he brought up something I had said weeks before. Something I honestly hadn't thought much about since it happened. And he told me that what I said had hurt someone's feelings.
That's really all he said. But my friend, it wasn't just what he said that got to me. It was how he said it.
There was a tone in his voice that I had never heard directed at me before. And there was this guarded, critical look on his face that felt really hurtful. And I remember sitting there thinking, What is happening right now? This felt so different than anything I had ever experienced with either of my sons.
And I didn't know what to do with it. I felt, honestly, attacked. Because this didn't feel like the same dynamic we'd always had.
In that moment, I didn't take a step back. I didn't take a breath. My friend, I lost my ever-loving mind.
I mean, I saw red. I could barely even process what he was saying because I was so flooded with emotion. And what I realize now is that there were a few things happening for me all at once.
I felt betrayed. I remember thinking, Wait a second, everything I say to you is now being shared with this other person? And not only that, but my words are being taken out of context. I felt violated.
I also felt angry. Because in my mind, what I'd said had nothing to do with this other person. It was about my son, actually.
It was about me trying to help him. It felt absolutely absurd to me that my words would now be used against me. And maybe more than anything, I felt hurt.
Because the way my son was coming to me, it felt like he was questioning me. Like he didn't trust my intent. In fact, it felt like he was taking someone else's side over mine.
And I didn't know how to handle that. It didn't even occur to me to sit in that moment and stay calm. So I didn't.
I think I even said something at the time like, How dare you? And then I left. I just walked out of the room. It was probably nine or ten o'clock at night, and I didn't take my phone.
I just left. I walked around that island, not even really knowing where I was going. I was just trying to get away from what I was feeling.
And I remember just letting it all out. I was screaming and crying and saying all the things I was thinking. Trying to make sense of it.
Because I could not believe what had just happened. In retrospect, it felt like such a small thing. And yet, it felt like a drastic shift in our relationship.
I had never had an interaction like that with my son, ever. It felt like something had just broken. And I didn't understand it.
At some point, I started to calm down. Not completely. I was still upset.
But I'd at least gotten to a place where I could go back. My son had also had some time to think. And we sat down and we talked.
And I was able to say sorry. And I was able to tell him that, of course, I never meant to hurt this other person. And he apologized, too, for the way he came to me.
We hugged. And everything actually felt okay. The rest of that trip was actually beautiful.
We laughed. We spent time together and had adventures. We connected in all the ways we always had.
At the time, that conversation was just a blip in the radar. No big deal in retrospect. But sitting here now, coming back to this place, I can see that it wasn't just a moment.
It was the beginning of a stretch of time where I was slowly losing my son. It was subtle at first. There were these moments where things fell off.
I could feel that distance growing. But I didn't really understand why or what to do about it. Sometimes my son would still be open.
But other times he was totally closed off. And at the same time, I was watching him in this relationship and feeling really uneasy. Something was happening to my son.
As you can imagine, especially given how close I'd always been with my son, I shared my concerns. The problem was that me speaking up was only making things worse. Again, I was just trying to help.
I was doing what we moms do. I was trying to protect him. Trying to guide him.
To help him understand what a healthy relationship should look like. But the harder I tried, the more my son pulled away. I could see things changing, but I couldn't stop it.
In fact, the more I tried, the worse it got. I was losing my connection with my son, and I didn't know how to get it back. No matter how much I loved him, no matter how much I wanted to protect him, I didn't have any control over the choices he was making or the direction things were going.
It's something that's hard to put into words. But if you're listening and you've experienced anything like this, you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's not just worry.
It's this constant feeling in your body. Like something isn't right. Like you're watching something happen that you don't want.
You're petrified and powerless at the same time. It's so tempting to think that if I had just handled that moment on vacation better, or if I'd figured out what was going on sooner, that somehow I could have prevented this break in our relationship. I also blamed myself for not being more direct with both of my boys about what a healthy relationship was supposed to look like.
I was naive. I thought my boys saw me and my husband on a daily basis. I thought it was enough to model respect and love.
How could I have ever known what they should look out for when I hadn't yet experienced something like this? A relationship that eats away at you. Or maybe a better metaphor is that frog that sits in the pot of water that's being slowly warmed. Before they know it, they're sitting in boiling water and you don't know how you got there, but you can't get out.
And it is devastating to watch. And again, it's tempting to believe that if I had just understood all of this sooner, that I could have warned him. That I could have somehow prevented what happened.
But the truth is, there was nothing I could do. The whole situation was entirely out of my control. I share this story because I know I am not the only mom who has lived through something like this.
I know so many of the women I work with are navigating situations with their kids where they're trying so hard to figure out the right way to handle what's happening. And they're terrified of getting it wrong. Maybe you're watching your child make choices that worry you.
You're watching them head down a path that you don't want for them. If you're in this place, I can imagine that you're trying to figure out whether to step in, maybe set a boundary or say the hard thing. Or whether you need to step back and give them the independence they're asking for.
Let them learn for themselves how to figure things out. This is what we grapple with as moms. And I wish I could tell you that there were easy answers.
But I think you already know there aren't. On top of all of that, when you see your child going down a path you don't want for them and when you feel absolutely powerless to stop it, it doesn't just bring up fear. It can bring up anger and hurt, betrayal, and this crushing sense of failure.
Like somehow we're failing at the very role we want most to get right. I mean, we are their mom. We're supposed to love and support and protect our kids.
And then life hands us these moments where no matter how much we love them, we can't protect them from what they're living through. And that is such a hard truth to face. Being back here now, being in this place where all of this started, has stirred up so much reflection for me.
And one of the first things I feel so deeply as I look back is this. I have to forgive myself. My friend, there are so many things about that year that I regret.
I lost it more than once. I said things I wish I could take back. I was emotional.
I took things personally. I was consumed by fear and frustration and heartbreak. And yet I also look back at that version of myself with so much love because I was doing the best I could.
I was a mom who loved her son with all her heart, facing a situation I had never experienced before. I think sometimes we forget that part. We forget that we are human beings and learning as we go.
I am just a human being who loves her children so deeply, and I was blindsided. I had never experienced something like that before, and I didn't have the tools. In the beginning, I didn't even understand what I was facing.
In hindsight, of course, I can see all kinds of things I would do differently, but I choose not to use hindsight as a weapon against myself. Instead, I choose to forgive myself and tell myself the truth about what both I and my son were going through and let that be okay. That was the reality that we were facing, and we did the best we could.
The other thing that has become so clear to me as I look back is that my son's journey was always going to be his. Whether I wanted that to be true or not, his journey was his, and I could not stop that train from heading wherever it was going to head. Now, I know that can be hard to hear because as moms, we really do want to believe that we have more power than we do.
I hear this all the time from moms. We think we are the ones who are going to keep everything from falling apart. We think we're the ones who are going to make sure our kids don't fail or make life-altering mistakes.
We think if we just love them hard enough and say the right thing, that if we worry enough, that somehow we can change the outcomes for them. But the truth is, that's a lie. And it's actually a really hard lie to let go of because it feels like if we let go of that illusion of control, then we're giving up on our child.
It feels like if we stop gripping so tightly, then we're just standing there allowing them to fail and struggle. And my friend, I am not saying that you should do nothing. By all means, fight for your child.
Of course, you're going to want to help and support and guide them in all the ways they will let you. But we also have to recognize the limits of our power. And I think that begins by really seeing this distinction.
This is our child's journey, not ours. We can guide them, we can hope to influence them, we can love them, but only to the extent that they are willing to let us in. Once I really understood that, I stopped making my son's path mean that I failed.
And my friend, this is what I can tell you now, four years later, that that season with my son, as heavy and heartbreaking as it was, was only a chapter. It was not the whole story. And I am so unbelievably grateful for that.
I certainly would never have chosen it. I would have loved to believe that there was something in the world I could have done to help him avoid that pain. But this was my son's reality.
The truth is, life brings us things we would never choose. I talk to moms all the time who have lived through deeply painful, even traumatic experiences. There are things that happen in this world that are hard to even comprehend.
And I want to be really clear about something, because I talk so much about mindset on this podcast, but there is no silver lining to trauma or abuse. There are things that are simply unimaginable, painful, unfair, and no amount of mindset work is about pretending otherwise. And yet, when those things happen, we are left with a choice, not about the circumstance itself, but about how we are going to meet it.
And that is what that year with my son asked of me. As I lived through that experience, I started to see that the more I reacted from my pain, the more I was pushing him further away and further into a place where he was already feeling alone, already hurting. And when I finally allowed myself to see that, I knew I had to change.
I realized I needed to find the strongest version of myself. Because being the mom I wanted to be for my son meant I had to learn how to stand inside a reality I didn't want and I couldn't control. And in that powerlessness, find my power.
That is the work, to meet circumstances that I would never have chosen as the highest, most empowered version of myself. And in that process, I grew. And I truly believe that even though I couldn't change my son's experience, even though it had to be his journey and his choice, I realized that I could be the one to leave a light on.
I could make sure that even if he needed to pull away, even if he had to distance himself to figure out what he really wanted, he was always going to have an invitation to come back home. The things I did were so small and subtle, I stopped reacting. I stopped telling him he was wrong for what he was feeling.
I stopped making his journey about me. I focused on doing what I needed to do to process my own pain. And when I was with him, when I was interacting with him, I showed up with unconditional love.
Even when my heart was breaking, I showed up with love. I kept the light on. And my friend, my son came back to me.
As heavy as that chapter felt at the time, it was only a chapter and it changed me. It helped me become a mother who can hold love and worry and frustration, all of it without breaking. Through that experience, I was able to create so much profound change and growth in myself.
But what was even more beautiful was seeing that same profound change and growth in my son. Each one of our children are going to have to face the reality of their choices. They're going to have to figure out what they really want in their lives and what matters to them, who they want to be.
And as hard as it is for us as moms, there are some lessons they can't learn from us. They have to experience them for themselves. And as devastating as it is to watch someone you love struggle, these are the life lessons that our kids need to learn through experience.
It is such a humbling truth as a mom. And I know so well that when you're stuck in the thick of the pain, it can be so hard to imagine any kind of resolution. It can feel impossible to believe that one day you'll be able to look back and call this a chapter.
And it's also true that life doesn't always resolve itself in the way we want it to. Sometimes we don't get the happy ending we're hoping for. But even then, you are still left with a choice.
You are still left with the question of how you want to show up for yourself, how you want to grow into the version of yourself who can carry this reality. Life will absolutely not always go the way you want it to. But can you be the woman who meets that reality as the strongest, most loving, most forgiving version of yourself? That is the work we do inside Mom 2.0. It's having the tools to learn how to hold everything that life brings you, the worry and the frustration and the regret and the heartbreak, the loss of raising and launching our big kids, being able to meet all of it as the mom and the woman that you want to be.
And my friend, this doesn't mean there's a perfect way to do this. Being the mom you want to be doesn't mean you say the right thing all the time or that you never react or that you never feel hurt. This is all simply part of being human, being a mom who loves her children deeply.
But your power is found in who you choose to be even in those messy moments. Can you be the woman who gives herself grace? Can you trust your child's journey? And maybe even more, trust that you can handle whatever comes. My friend, sometimes the most powerful thing you can do as a mom is not to control the outcome, but to keep the light on.
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.
