The Difficult Beauty of Parenting a Tween

There’s a peculiar ache that comes with parenting a tween. It’s the kind that sneaks up on me in the quiet moments—the ones where I suddenly realize she doesn’t need my help zipping up her jacket, or she rolls her eyes when I offer advice, or she asks me for space instead of snuggles.

It’s a beautiful kind of heartbreak.

She’s becoming her own person. I see it in the way she speaks up now, sass and all. The way she’s starting to stand her ground, push boundaries, and test her voice in the world. She’s witty—so witty—and quick with a comeback that leaves me speechless and laughing. She’s sweet, too, in the way only she can be. One moment she’s teasing me like a best friend, the next she’s curled beside me, still just a little girl at heart.

Sometimes, in passing, I’ll joke with her:

“Remember when we used to be thick as thieves?”

And without missing a beat, she’ll say,

“We still are.”

Cue the lump in my throat. The sting behind my eyes. Because in that moment, I know I’m not losing her—I’m just getting to know her all over again.

There’s a difficult beauty in this season. It’s watching her grow, mess up, discover her strength, and sometimes stumble. It’s letting her make choices, even when everything in me wants to protect her from the hurt. It’s knowing I can’t hold her hand forever, but hoping she always knows where to find mine.

So I cheer her on. I show up. I listen—even when she swears she doesn’t want me to. I love her fiercely and let her fly, even when it breaks my heart a little.

Because parenting a tween isn’t about holding on—it’s about standing beside her as she becomes exactly who she’s meant to be.