I Am Not Always There, But I Am Always Present

Having my own website, a space to write and share has been on my mind for a long time. When it finally came together (thanks to my colleague who put it together), I wondered what my first blog should be about.

Founder? Leader? Something intelligent and useful?

Then I asked myself a more honest question: What role truly defines me? What worries me? What sits closest to my heart?

The answer was simple.

Mother.

Mother to a 14-year-old girl.

I've worked hard on myself over the years, on my mindset, on not spiraling into negative loops. And it's a good thing, because mothering a teenager requires emotional strength.

The Guilt That Evolves

The guilt of being a working mother never really leaves. It just evolves.

When she was little, guilt was about missing moments. Now it's subtler. I can be in an important meeting and suddenly think, She has an exam tomorrow? Did I check in enough? Is she prepared?

She doesn't need me the way she used to. I am no longer at the center of her world. I am more of a silent spectator now- stepping in when invited, stepping back when she wants space.

And my God, this is hard.

The Clock Is Ticking

A new worry has entered my life.

In three years, she may leave for college.

Three years sounds long, but it feels terrifyingly short. When I really think about it, it shakes me. What will I do when she's gone? Why am I doing anything else when time with her feels so limited?

I resolve to spend more time with her. To plan evenings around her.

But here's the truth: she pushes me away.

The Art of Parenting a Teenager

Teenagers don't want hovering. They don't want visible panic. If you protect too much, you're clingy. If you ask too much, you're intrusive.

You have to be steady. Smart. Regulated.

Only then do they open up.

She may not tell me everything. But she checks if I'm home. She may act distant, but when something truly matters, she circles back.

She needs me, just not in the way she once did.

What I'm Learning

So I'm learning something new.

I cannot mother her from fear. I cannot love her out of anxiety about the future.

I may not always be there in every moment of her life.

But when she turns around, whether tomorrow or three years from now, she will find me steady.

Present.

And perhaps, at fourteen, that is what she needs most.