Dad sends me Nikki Gemmell articles. I've come to love her literary style and especially appreciate her point of view on our common concerns. She wrote a great piece about a nun once.
This is for posterity - for my kids.
PUBERTY BLUES by Nikki Gemmell (The Weekend Australian Magazine, Feb 2015)
T0 my child starting high school: .
Now is the beginning of the letting
go. When you start the walking
away, and already 1can feel the
reins of attachment loosening, you tugging at
the bit. 1 can't control your world anymore
- your destiny, happiness, bedtime or screen
time (as much as 1want to) - nor can 1 shape
your sense of discipline, hunger and drive, who
you hang out with and what foods you eat
beyond this, your always-home. It's up to you
now to seize the world, or not, without my close
guidance; all the vividness and variety around
you. It's up to you to have discipline and drive,
or not, but you won't get far without either. It's
up to you to risk, fail, pick yourself up, try again,
sornething different. There'll be an endless
moving away from the known now, a shutting
out. Of your parents most of all. It's what it
takes to become adult.
A recent study confirms what l'm learning
fast - that a majority of parents think its harder
coping with a teenager than a newborn.
Thirteen, according to the parents surveyed by
Netmums, is the most gruelling age. Company
founder Siobhan Freegard says, "It is almost like
a rebirth of your children when puberty kicks
in ... The change can seem it has occurred
almost overnight, and the child you thought you
knew has suddenly turned into somebody you
don't recognise." Its about control, most of all.
We parents no longer have as tight a command
and you're kicking out strong, bucking off so
much; the hovering, judgment, nagging, the
attempts at shaping, the domestic
claustrophobia. You need release, to find your
own way. But it's hard for
us to let go. We've held
on tighr for so long.
You'll build fences
around yourself,
barricades. There'll be
swearing, no doubt;
maybe even slammed doors, stormings off-:
declarations, possibly, that family members are
hated. So be it. It's all in the mix of what it takes
to become an adult, Anger will roar at you, a
sense that no one understands, no one gets it.
And at times you'll feel lost. That you don't
know who you are. That you're isolated and
friendless and that no one else, ever, has felt
more alone than you. Oh we have. It's hard,
being a teenager; the great churn of it. We know,
we've been rhere. lt's hard, feeling too much.
May you one day understand why Lynx (or its
equivalent) is a good, regular thing - apparently
this finally happens when the opposite sex comes
into your life (or the same sex, if you're that way
inclined: we're leaving that all up to you). Open
wide your bedroom window, let in the light.
Seize high school. Not just the narrowly academic
side of it, which is only part of the unfolding
wonder of these years. There's so much variety
now in secondary school - your parents could
only dream of it fabulous clubs and obscure
sports and all manner of creative activities. Try
something fresh, often; it's all about finding your
passion, what these years are really about, to me,
not sorne number on a piece of paper at the end
of it, One of the saddest things 1ever heard was
from a 40-year-old mate: "1 have no passion in
life." Now is the time to glean it.
Beware social media - what is written in a
careless second will leave an electronic imprint
that could one day be traced by a potential
employer, or a fellow studenr's mother. Gulp
the world. Don't bury your head in a screen.
And don't entirely lose
the ludic, that little boy
still bubbling up, so close
under your skin. It breaks
your mother's heart to see
it - with happiness. Be
courageously kind, and
reckless with your exuberance. You are radiant
and beautiful and don't even know it.
Everything about you feels forceful and fragile.
This is a time of self-doubt and hesitation,
bravery and bluff and 1 carry your vivid
mortifications, your hurts and pain like iron in
my chest. Because 1 am a mother. Never forget
you can talk to me. 1 might understand.
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