The Dance of Parenting Through Adolescence

Just a few days ago, I was sitting down for a coffee, waiting for my son to return from school. Suddenly, without warning, I heard the roar: a door swinging open, a violent slam, hurried footsteps, a gust of wind rushing past me, and then—another slam. Yes, my 14-year-old son had just arrived. He didn’t greet me. When I knocked on his bedroom door, he denied me entry... until the fourth attempt, an hour later, and only after being bribed with a milkshake.

In the blink of an eye, that sweet, dependent child who sought our hands to cross the street begins to close off, to argue, and to distance himself. Although it may seem like he doesn't need us, deep down, he is still looking for us. As D.W. Winnicott said: “It is a joy to be hidden, but a disaster not to be found.”

As both a mother and a psychologist, I live this constant tension between holding on and letting go. Day after day, I ask myself: How do I position myself in this new stage—an era so different from my own and that of my parents? Today, being a parent is no longer about exercising unquestionable authority. The family has shifted from a rigid hierarchy to a network of closer, more flexible, and negotiated bonds. Our children are no longer born to obey; and we, much as we might wish to be, are not absolute bosses. We are, in the best sense, partners in negotiation.

They participate in decisions, access information, and master technological, social, and even sexual territories that we sometimes barely understand. In many ways, they are authorities in their own worlds. But that self-authority doesn’t mean they don’t need guidance. It means they need a different kind of guidance. This is the great challenge—the thin line that requires us to be strong guardians and containers for their emotions and thoughts, without invading their space.

I believe modern parenting rests on three complementary roles that must operate simultaneously: Protecting, Dialoguing, and Individuating.

The first role is Protection. Our children, no matter how informed they are, remain emotionally vulnerable. They still need boundaries, structure, and someone to say: "I am here. No matter what happens, I am with you." This protection goes beyond physical safety; it extends to the psychological realm: being available without being intrusive, recognizing their distress without minimizing it, and most importantly, establishing clear emotional boundaries. It is vital to teach the separation of one person’s well-being from another’s, one’s body from another’s, and one’s thoughts from another’s. Without these clear frontiers, we unconsciously cross the line, believing our children’s lives belong to us—a mindset that can become a source of trauma.

This is where many parents stumble. We sometimes confuse care with surveillance, presence with intrusion, and concern with fear. We struggle to accept that a fundamental part of protection is allowing the other person to make mistakes, to explore, to test, and to define themselves far from our expectations. And yes, that process hurts. It scares us deeply to think: What if our children become adults who are different from us? What if they choose lives, partners, or ideologies that differ from our own?

Margaret Mahler’s theory on separation and individuation reminds us that children are not born to remain fused with us, but to differentiate themselves. Adolescence is, in essence, a second individuation: a rebirth.

And although it seems obvious that they should be different, in practice, that "different" often feels like "distant," "strange," or even "wrong." It unnerves us when their way of loving, thinking, inhabiting their bodies, or choosing an ideology differs so much from ours that it leaves us speechless. In the face of that, it is easy to fall into criticism or control. But if we do not respect that difference, we risk reinforcing a False Self (Winnicott): that mask the young person wears so as not to disappoint their parents, but which disconnects them from their own authenticity. How many teenagers play soccer just to avoid letting their father down, when they really want to dance ballet?

The True Self—that creative and authentic core—can only emerge when there is space. Emotional, physical, and relational space. To offer that space, we parents must let go of our projections, stop using "authority" as a refuge, and dare to look at our children as subjects in the making, not as improved versions of ourselves.

In the midst of all this lies the crucial role of Dialogue. This isn't just about talking; it’s about truly listening. It’s about understanding that today’s adolescent has their own knowledge and a subjective authority that deserves recognition. We can no longer "preach" from a place of absolute truth. We need to converse from our shared humanity. Therefore, dialogue does not imply total symmetry; parents still hold a responsibility. We are not their friends, but we are their unconditional allies. We can show ourselves as accessible, saying: "I don't know how to help you, but I'm here," or "We are different, but I know you will find your own way." That is often more transformative than any sermon.

Our children do not need to be controlled; they need us to trust in their capacity to grow. Even if that growth leads them down paths we don’t fully understand. We must recognize as parents that we cannot avoid or prevent their pain, errors, frustration, or regrets. Nor can we predict their successes or their happiness. The reality is that this is the individual and subjective challenge of development and maturity for each soul.

Accompanying an adolescent child is, at its heart, accompanying a mutual transformation. They aren't the only ones changing. We are, too. It is our turn to let go of old mandates, revisit our own wounds, and dare to yield to the process that allows for a greater connection with our own emotional growth—and thus, a deeper, more lasting connection with our children, the adults of the future.

The great challenge ahead demands a fundamental decision: prioritizing our own individual development. This means taking a step back and accepting the need for our own individuation and separation (Mahler). By healing our wounds, dismantling our automatic "false selves," and freeing ourselves from repetitive patterns, we stop projecting expectations. Only then can we choose a path of deep personal fulfillment and become, first, authentic guides for ourselves, and then, genuine guides for our children.