My 16-year-old son has been under the weather lately with a nasty cold. He’s more than capable of warming up some soup by himself—after all, he’s been glued to his video games for the past few days. Yet, I still find myself preparing that soup for him. He certainly doesn’t require my help to locate his favorite blanket that vanished months ago, but I rummaged through the house to find it and wrapped him up like a burrito, just as I did when he was little and needed comfort for his naps.
He doesn’t protest; he knows it’s futile. Even though he towers over me and weighs almost 200 pounds, he understands that I insist on doing certain things for him—not just for his sake, but for my own emotional fulfillment.
There are mornings when I see my children scrambling to gather lunch items from the pantry, despite my repeated reminders to pack their bags the night before. I tell them to finish getting ready, and I’ll take care of their lunch. Yes, my three kids are now teenagers who can handle most tasks independently. I’ve taught them how to do laundry, clean bathrooms, and whip up simple meals like grilled cheese and pasta.
However, I still find moments to help them out. When I spot their favorite sweatshirt tossed in the backseat, I wash it so it’s fresh and ready for the next day. Even when I’m in a hurry, I make them their favorite meals. I’ve even walked into their messy bathroom—towels strewn about, empty Q-tip containers, and no toilet paper left—and tidied it up for them. (I can only tackle that task when I’m feeling particularly generous, but it always fills me with love for them when I do.)
I’m committed to raising self-sufficient kids who understand that life isn’t about being served. But I also want to show them just how much I care. In many ways, it’s a bittersweet realization that they don’t need me as much as they once did. I imagined these years would bring me joy and freedom, like spinning on a mountaintop in a musical, but the reality is quite different.
Making a sandwich for them transports me back to the quiet afternoons filled with the sounds of cartoons, cutting their sandwiches into fun shapes, and stuffing my youngest son’s peanut butter and jelly with potato chips. Folding their hoodies reminds me of the days spent washing tiny onesies and socks. Heating soup and wrapping my son snugly in his blanket fills me with a sense of nurturing that I don’t get to express as often anymore.
While the physical demands of raising my teens have decreased, the mental load has increased. They shy away from my hugs, aren’t keen on holding hands, and don’t ask for bedtime stories or movie marathons on the floor like they used to. I find myself worrying and asking too many questions. I recognize that my significance in their lives has shifted, and that’s perfectly okay.
Still, I feel the strong urge to show my love—it’s an instinct all parents have, regardless of their children’s ages. I’ve told them repeatedly that it’s okay for me to do things for them without resistance. After all, I’ve earned that right.
These days, my gestures of love take the form of cleaning their bathroom every now and then or telling them to sleep in a bit while I prepare their lunch. They’ve outgrown the desire for crafts or building forts together. Those days have left a void, so I try to fill it with little acts of love, like making sandwiches and washing their clothes, leaving them neatly folded on their beds. These tasks feel delightful when done out of love rather than obligation.
I often remind them with a smile that “If you want it, get it or do it yourself,” so they remember the balance of independence in our home. Nevertheless, every so often, I indulge in doing things for them that they can manage alone, and I have no plans to stop.
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Summary:
As my teenagers grow, they’re becoming more independent, but I still find joy in doing small things for them, like making soup or tidying up their spaces. These acts reflect my love and nurture our bond, even as they navigate their newfound self-sufficiency.
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