To Let Go So She Can Fly

This article is part of a series on Motherhood from other voices in our community.

When I was growing up, I wanted nothing more than to be a mother someday and channeled that desire by carrying around my little brother like a baby and playing ‘house’ with my best friend Mia. I always chose the role of mom, fussing about in a lace doily-like apron in my Playskool pretend kitchen.

By the time my first child, Marguerite, was born, her life plan—and mine—had already been meticulously mapped out in my head. In those early years as a new mom in San Francisco, all of my fastidious type-A tendencies seemed to pay off. I captured glorious Golden Gate picnics in perfectly coordinating mother-daughter outfits on my iPhone for the whole world to see, and her nap and bathtime schedule fell easily into place. Except for minor bumps in the road, everything went according to plan.

Marguerite is fourteen now, and parenthood nowadays looks very different than it did in those early years. No amount of pre-planning and path-paving could have prepared me for what it’s like to parent a teenager.

What is most surprising about this stage is that it is infinitely more interesting and rewarding than I ever imagined. Sure, there is the occasional eye roll and a scuffle over too much screen time, but the magic, I've learned, is allowing Marguerite to forge her own path—one that is authentically hers and hers alone.

It may have taken me fourteen years to figure this one out, but I finally get it: She is raising me just as much as I am raising her. Instead of holding on tightly to that mapped-out version of how Marguerite’s life should go, I am watching in sheer awe as she beautifully navigates the world around her without any help or assistance from me. It may be the most difficult and beautiful thing I ever do as mom—to let go so that she can fly.