The Hardest Summer: Navigating Life with a 14-Year-Old

When knowing the science doesn't make living it any easier.

I know the zones of child development. I can tell you all about the neurological changes happening in a 14-year-old's brain—the prefrontal cortex still developing, the limbic system in overdrive, the identity formation that's both necessary and chaotic. I was a high school principal, for crying out loud. I've seen this developmental stage play out in hundreds of kids.

But here's what they don't tell you in all those child development courses: knowing why your 14-year-old is acting like a completely different species doesn't make it easier when you're living with them.

The Science I Know (That Doesn't Help at 7 AM)

Fourteen is brutal, whether you're a boy or a girl. They're shedding their little kid identity like a snake sheds skin—awkwardly, in pieces, leaving a mess everywhere. They're moving from the relatively safe harbor of middle school into the vast, terrifying ocean of high school. Their sense of self is under construction, and construction sites are loud, messy, and dangerous.

I get it. Intellectually, I understand that this is exactly what's supposed to be happening. The attitude, the eye rolls, the sudden expertise on everything (especially my job, which apparently I know nothing about despite it being, you know, my actual career). The emotional yo-yo that swings from sweet kid to surly teenager sometimes within the same sentence.

But understanding the developmental psychology doesn't make it less exhausting when you're the primary target of all this beautiful, necessary, absolutely infuriating growth.

Living with the Daily Stranger

Every morning, a different version of my child appears. Sometimes it's the sweet kid who wants to tell me about their dreams. Sometimes it's the teenager who treats me like I'm the dumbest person who ever existed. Often, it's someone I don't recognize at all—this animal (and I use that term with love and exasperation) who seems to have absorbed my child overnight.

There's Adam Sandler movies blaring in the background while I'm trying to work from home because we're clearly not ready for that level of independence yet. The Ring camera footage when I'm gone tells a story of decision-making that makes me question everything I thought I knew about this kid.

And the hardest part? I remember being 14. Too old for camps, too young for a job (though I always had one because I was different that way). I lived somewhere I could bike places, had freedom to roam, and yeah—I slept constantly and ate everything that wasn't nailed down when I was bored.

I know this is all normal. And that knowing makes it harder, not easier.

The Day I Fell Apart

The other day, sitting in my office, I completely lost it. I'd been trying so hard to pretend this was all okay, all normal. I'd been lying—to myself, to others—that this had been a "great summer."

It hasn't been.

It's been a constant amount of work managing my family dynamics, my son's emotional roller coaster, and myself—trying to find enough energy and patience to not completely lose my shit. It's been the summer of being the emotional punching bag, the regulator of everyone's moods, the person who absorbs the mean comments muttered under breath and somehow still shows up with dinner and clean laundry.

As my therapist gently reminded me: "Maybe this is the one thing that isn't easy for you."

And damn, that hit hard. Because I'm used to being good at things. I figured out leadership, I navigated infertility, I've handled crises and difficult people and complex situations. But this? This daily dance with a 14-year-old who needs me desperately while simultaneously treating me like I'm the enemy? This is kicking my ass.

The Mom Guilt Double Whammy

Here's the twisted part: knowing all the developmental reasons why this is happening actually adds to the mom guilt. When I finally snap, when I lose my patience, when I stop being the calm, understanding adult and become the frustrated, overwhelmed human—I beat myself up twice as hard because I "should know better."

I should be more patient because I understand brain development. I should take it less personally because I know it's not really about me. I should regulate better because I'm the adult.

But understanding why someone is throwing emotional grenades in your living room doesn't make those grenades hurt less when they explode.

The Permission to Admit It Sucks

So here it is, moms: We may know why all this is happening, but that doesn't always make it easier. Sometimes it makes it harder because we think our knowledge should protect us from the emotional impact.

You're not alone if this stage is breaking you a little. There's no shame in admitting that some days (or weeks, or months) with your teenager just suck. A lot.

I've been telling everyone what a great summer it's been while internally drowning in the daily challenge of loving someone who seems determined to push every button I have. And you know what? Sometimes when you give yourself permission to admit how hard it is and how not fun it is, that's actually the first step in moving forward.

What I'm Learning in the Mess

This summer has taught me that being a good parent doesn't mean enjoying every stage of your child's development. It means showing up consistently even when you feel like you're failing daily. It means understanding that your 14-year-old needs to reject you a little bit to figure out who they are—and that your job is to be sturdy enough to handle that rejection without taking it personally (most days).

It means accepting that some phases of parenting are just survival mode, and survival mode is still success.

Most importantly, it means giving yourself permission to not be the perfect, endlessly patient mother you thought you'd be. Because perfect mothers don't exist, but present ones do. And showing up imperfectly is still showing up.

To the Moms in the Trenches

If you're reading this while hiding in your car after another blow-up, if you're questioning whether you're completely screwing up this parenting thing, if you're wondering when (or if) you'll get your sweet kid back—you're not alone.

This stage is hard because it's supposed to be hard. Your teenager is doing exactly what they need to do to become who they're meant to be. And you're doing exactly what you need to do by providing a safe place for them to figure it out, even when that place sometimes feels like a war zone.

We're all just trying to love these almost-adults through their metamorphosis while maintaining our own sanity. Some days we nail it. Some days we don't. Both are part of the process.

The fact that it's hard doesn't mean you're doing it wrong. It means you're doing one of the hardest jobs in the world: raising a human being through their most chaotic developmental stage while somehow keeping yourself intact enough to be there for them.

That's not failure. That's heroic.

What's getting you through the tough parenting phases? Let's support each other in the comments—sometimes just knowing we're not alone makes all the difference.