The Parenting We Needed, The Parenting We’re Learning

The conversation shifted in a particularly interesting direction when we began talking about teenagers because if parenting young children often asks for physical energy, parenting teenagers can ask for emotional endurance. There can be a feeling, almost overnight, that someone who once sat beside you building Lego on the floor has disappeared upstairs and closed the bedroom door.

Colleen was careful not to pathologize that transition. Growing independence is natural, she explained, and teenagers are meant to orient more toward the world around them. But she also challenged an idea many parents have accepted as inevitable, which is that adolescence automatically means emotional distance.

"Our teens should want to be with us some of the time," she explained.

Maybe they still want to come on the family trip. Maybe they bring friends around. Maybe they share something small about their day. The expression changes, but the attachment underneath it is still important.

She introduced one of the ideas that stayed with me long after the conversation ended: collect before you direct.

So much of family life becomes logistical. Finish your homework. Put your shoes away. Clean your room. What Colleen was describing felt almost like a pause before all of that. Before asking for something, reconnect first.

For one teenager that might mean sharing music in the car. For another it could be talking about a game they love, asking about something they are genuinely interested in, or bringing them tea after school. Colleen shared stories of connecting with her own son through music because direct questions after school often felt overwhelming for him.

"Do you want to put on your playlist?" became her opening instead of "How was your day?"

What struck me was that collecting wasn't about forcing closeness. It was about creating a bridge back to connection.

Toward the end of our conversation, we spoke about mistakes because every parent eventually makes them. We lose patience. We react. We say things we wish we could take back. We raise our voices, become overwhelmed, or respond from places in ourselves that feel much younger than we intended. Parenting has a way of exposing our unfinished places, and for many people that can bring enormous guilt.

Colleen offered something that felt both reassuring and surprisingly practical.

"There is always a way to repair," she said.

What I loved was that she wasn't talking about apologizing from a place of panic or shame. She described repair as something much steadier. She talked about being able to go back to your child and simply say, "I didn't like the way I handled that," or "I wish I had done that differently." There was dignity in the way she described it, almost an invitation to remain grounded rather than collapsing under the weight of guilt.

She also made an important distinction that I had never really considered before. Repair is not about suddenly reversing roles and needing reassurance from our children. Parents sometimes become so distressed after making mistakes that they begin pursuing their children with, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Do you still love me? Are we okay?" But Colleen explained that children still need us to hold onto our leadership position in those moments.

You can acknowledge a mistake without losing your footing.

You can apologize without handing your child responsibility for making you feel better.

She shared examples from her own family, describing how her husband would sometimes return after conflict and say something as simple as, "Daddy's voice got loud and I didn't like the way I handled that." Sometimes the children immediately softened. Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they were still angry and needed space.

And that was okay too.

One of the most generous things she offered parents was permission to allow children to have feelings about us. If a child says, "I'm still mad at you," or walks away or slams a bedroom door, it doesn't necessarily mean the repair failed. It may simply mean they need time with their own emotions.

The deeper message underneath repair seemed to be this: I still have you. We are still okay. This relationship is strong enough to hold difficult moments.

Children, after all, are not learning from parents who never fail. They are learning from parents who show them what happens after failure. They are learning that people can make mistakes and still return to one another. They are learning that relationships bend and stretch and occasionally become messy, but that love doesn't disappear the moment things become difficult.

Because life is messy. Families are messy. Relationships are messy. Maybe being a good parent has always been about coming back to love.