A Black Girl Wrote This

Gentle parenting sounded cute… until them hormones hit.

Parenting a preteen should come with hazard pay.

One minute they’re asking for hugs, the next they’re rolling their eyes so hard you can see nothing but the whites.

The attitude? Disgusting.
The hormones? Barbaric.
The patience I thought I had? Gone. Nonexistant.

I’m trying, y’all.
I’m trying to parent with softness. With intention. With emotional awareness.

But the way I’m being tested?
Relentless.

These preteens?
Got me rethinking everything I thought I knew about conscious parenting.

I’m this close to lacing up my sneakers and telling 1 and 2 to meet me outside… to throw hands—just to talk. 😒

See, I made a decision to parent with more compassion, more awareness, and more emotional availability than what I grew up with.

But nobody told me that healing, while parenting, would be this intense.

Nobody warned me that raising emotionally aware kids would also mean I’d have to sit in the mirror with the parts of me that are still unhealed. Literally sitting in my own triggers more times than I can count.

Because the truth is—sometimes it’s not even their behavior that sets me off.

It’s the little versions of me that still live inside.

It’s the triggers I didn’t know I had.

It’s the audacity of them talking back to me when I was raised not to speak unless spoken to. It’s the ghosts of my past haunting me, raising them.

It’s hearing “I don’t like that shirt” or “I’m definitely not wearing that! It’s ugly!”…and feeling disrespected—because I never had the space to disagree.

Here’s The Tea: It’s not that they’re disrespectful. It’s that they’re showing us what it looks like to have boundaries, to share feelings, to say no—and our nervous systems don’t know what to do with that.

They’re just doing what we said we wanted: expressing themselves fully, setting boundaries without fear, questioning things that don’t make sense to them.

The part that hurts the most? We never got to.

We. Are. Jealous.

We Said We Wanted to Do It Differently—So Why Are We Shocked When It Feels Different?

Isn’t this what I asked for?
Didn’t I want to raise a child who felt safe enough to express themselves?
Didn’t I say I’d be the parent who let them feel without punishing them for it?
Didn’t I pray to break the cycles that silenced me?

Then why am I so triggered when the fruit of that prayer shows up with an attitude and some bass in their voice?

The Tea: This isn’t just parenting them—it’s reparenting yourself while guiding someone else through the same mess you’re still healing from.

And that’s the part they don’t put in the gentle parenting handbook.

And while we’re here…

Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt personally victimized by Regina George. (aka your teenage/preteen daughter)

Because listen—parenting a DAUGHTER is a different beast.

I’m talking:

• She’s got attitude for NO reason.

• She’s got opinions on every fucking thing.

• She’s got a rebuttal to your “because I said so”.
  (I learned to retire this one QUICK)

• She’s got her own taste, her own vibe, her own timeline

And you know what? I love that for her. Truly. I do.

But also—I wasn’t ready.

There’s something about mothering a girl that makes you feel like you’re looking in the mirror and arguing with your own childhood.

And don’t get me started on the emotional whiplash:

• She wants independence but still needs help with her hair.

• She’s learning to stand up for herself, but somehow that includes standing against me every other Tuesday.

The Tea: She’s not being disrespectful—she’s becoming a person.
A whole person. With thoughts, moods, boundaries, edges, and questions that don’t always come out sweet.

And sometimes those questions? They cut. Deep.
Not because she’s trying to hurt you—
But because she’s saying out loud what you were never allowed to even think.

She’s not mad for no reason—
She’s mad because your parenting approach is brushing up against your own unhealed childhood. She’s mad because you’re asking her to be obedient, when what you really mean is compliant. She’s mad because your cognitive dissonance is loud, and even though she can’t name it—she feels it.

She’s not trying to ruin your day.
She’s responding to your energy.
To your triggers.
To the contradiction between the parent you say you want to be and the one you default to when you feel disrespected.

You said you wanted her to have a voice.
So why are you offended when she uses it?

Two Preteens. One House. Pray for Me.

Imagine parenting two preteens, in two different stages of puberty, navigating two different emotional realities—under one roof.

One is trying to figure out who they are in the world.

The other is trying to figure out how to exist without exploding every 45 minutes.

And me? I’m in the middle.

Trying to keep the peace.
Trying to protect their emotions while managing my own.
Trying to break cycles without breaking down.

It’s a lot.
It’s holy work.
It’s exhausting.

But it’s also the most important thing I’ll ever do.

Parenting Isn’t Peaceful—It’s Purposeful

Some days it feels like I’m doing everything wrong.
Some days I just want to go in my room and not come out.
Some days I feel like the way I was raised would be easier to default to, even though I know it would leave scars I’m working hard not to pass down.

But then I remember—this isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence.

I’m not parenting from fear.
I’m not parenting to control.
I’m parenting to build trust, not trauma.

Even if that means I need a minute (or ten) in the bathroom to cry first.

AND ANOTHER THING!

Stop hiding your emotions from your kids.

Yes, even the tears.
Especially the tears.

They need to see it.
They need to see you—the real you. The full you. The version of you that feels overwhelmed, exhausted, stretched too thin, and still shows up anyway.

You don’t have to be stoic to be strong.
You don’t have to keep it all together to be respected.

Cry in the bathroom if you need to. But then come out and cry in front of them, too. Let them see that emotions are human. Let them see that even adults feel deeply. Let them learn, through you, that tears are not weakness—they’re release. They’re truth.

The Tea: You’re not protecting them by hiding your heart—you’re teaching them that emotional honesty has to be private and shameful. And it doesn’t.

So cry.

Let your voice tremble. Let your eyes water. Let them hold you, too.

Because as much as you’re raising them—they’re watching you to learn how to raise themselves.

If You’re in the Trenches Too…

You are not crazy.

You are not failing.

You are not the only one whisper-screaming in the bathroom while they yell about who used the last of the body wash.

You are in the most sacred, most demanding part of the healing journey.

You are parenting a whole human through a whole transformation while still learning how to be gentle with yourself.

You are a cycle breaker.
You are a soft place to land.
You are raising whole humans, in real-time, while healing yourself.

And that?
That deserves more grace than guilt. You’re doing better than you think.

Let’s talk about it. Let’s vent. Let’s break the silence on how hard and holy this part of parenting really is.

Because we gon’ make it Bookie.

Eventually.
Probably.
Hopefully.

💬 Comment below if you’re in the trenches too.

What’s something your child did or said lately that made you laugh, cry, or question everything?