Dear Emily,
You are my firstborn, my cherished girl, the baby we so eagerly awaited. It feels like just yesterday you were a tiny toddler, scampering after the cat. Now, you’re behind the wheel of my SUV, learner’s permit in hand, ready to master that three-point turn. You’re excelling in your honors classes and nurturing your incredible singing talent, a gift that brings joy to everyone around you.
Reflecting on my own teenage years, I once thought my parents were overly strict. Even now, I would have argued they were. The curfews, the constant inquiries about my whereabouts, and the concerns about my choices—they all felt suffocating. But now, as I navigate parenthood with you, I understand that my parents weren’t just strict; they were frightened. And honestly, I share that fear deeply.
You are on the brink of becoming an independent woman, yet you are still my sweet sixteen-year-old. I still catch you humming along to your favorite Disney songs on your iPhone. You sleep with your beloved Blankie and share hearty laughs over texts from friends, just like you did when you were little. Though tears are rare, you still find solace in my embrace when you need it most, even if you don’t fit on my lap quite the same way anymore.
What awaits you out there in the world? It’s full of uncertainties that are daunting for any parent. We establish rules to keep you safe, but you may see them as restrictions on your freedom. You want to ride with a friend who just got their license? I worry about the unpredictable drivers sharing the road. A weekend boat trip with your boyfriend? I don’t doubt your judgment; I worry about the reckless ones nearby. Parties at unfamiliar homes? You know all too well that not all parents prioritize safety.
Trust isn’t the issue—it’s the world itself. You are an incredibly resilient young woman, having faced challenges that could overwhelm many adults. Your strength is remarkable, and your kindness and empathy shine brightly.
I want to shield you from harm, cocooning you in love and warmth. It’s hard to let go. When you were small, a simple fall meant you sought my comfort. Now, I find myself anxious about what—or whom—you might turn to for solace. I worry about the dangers of the world: predators, substance use, reckless behavior.
Yet, while I yearn to protect you, I also want you to flourish, to experience life fully. I genuinely want you to have fun and create lasting memories with your friends. But each time you want to head out, I feel the urge to keep you close, just to see your face and remind myself of the bond we share.
I recognize you’re not quite an adult yet, and I must remind myself that it’s okay not to receive constant gratitude. As you navigate the often self-centered teenage years, I have to let go of my expectations. I do what I do for you, out of an innate, unconditional love that only a mother can feel.
In just two short years, you’ll be heading off to college. The thought of it catches in my throat, a reminder of how soon you’ll be gone. I won’t witness you getting off the bus after school or playfully ask if you’re “sleeping your life away” on a Saturday morning. You’ll be embarking on a new journey, filled with growth and discovery.
I want you to embrace life, meet new people, and challenge yourself academically and personally. Yet, there’s a part of me that longs for the days when you relied on your dad and me for everything. (Truthfully, part of me wouldn’t mind if you decided to take those online college courses from home, in your pajamas.)
Remember, everything I say and do is rooted in love. Setting curfews isn’t cruel; it’s a way for me to manage my worries and ensure you’re safe. I ask about your schoolwork because I believe in your potential. I don’t expect perfection; I only wish for you to strive for your best, driven by that primal, unconditional love I hold for you.
One of my father’s cherished songs was “Teach Your Children” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. It always brought tears to his eyes, and now, as a mother, it resonates deeply with me. Here are some poignant lines that capture my thoughts:
Teach your children well
Their father’s hell did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick’s the one you’ll know by…
So, my dear Emily, as you look at me, know that my love for you is immeasurable.
Love always,
Mom