Reclaiming the Joy in Motherhood: Letting Go of the Fear of What’s to Come

I’m learning, as I parent my teenager, just how much societal depictions—while sometimes rooted in truth—can also be incredibly damaging, especially when it comes to motherhood. These narratives have a way of trapping us in a cycle of dread and despair, robbing us of the joy found in each stage of parenting.

Every season of motherhood has its challenges. But when we’re in the thick of the toddler years and people say, “Just wait until they’re teenagers,” it plants a seed of fear that follows us into the middle years. Instead of fully embracing the present, we hold our breath, bracing for the storm we’ve been told is coming. I’ve fallen victim to that so many times—sitting in moments of utter hopelessness, convinced I’d never make it through motherhood in one piece. I’ve let exhaustion, overwhelm, and the weight of expectations strip away my joy.

And now, as I’m raising two very wild and, at times, incredibly challenging boys, I see how easy it is to let these societal narratives dictate my mindset. If I listen to everything the world says about raising teenagers, I start to feel overwhelmingly defeated before I even get there. It makes me believe I need to constantly prepare for the worst instead of simply living in the moment.

When Society Assumes Parenting Is Only Going to Get Harder

The other day, I was talking to someone, and when they learned I had a teenage daughter, they immediately asked, “How’s that going?”—with the stereotypical assumption that all teenagers are moody, defiant, and difficult. I responded, “Well, I’m only a few years in, but so far, I have no complaints.”

They went on to share that they have a toddler and can’t imagine how much harder the teenage years must be. And I get it—I see social media flooded with reels depicting the struggles of raising a teenager. But to be honest, I can’t relate to most of them. Not that my daughter is perfect—but maybe she’s a unicorn—because I truly have no complaints about teenage life, other than feeling like time is a bit of a thief.

She is a joy to be around. I love that we can have deep conversations and that she wants to share her world with me. She makes me laugh, introduces me to her music, and dreams big about her future. Whether or not those dreams unfold exactly as she envisions, I love that she has them—that she’s passionate and excited about life. She’s trustworthy, honest, and a young woman of integrity. I never worry about what she’s doing when she’s out with her friends because she’s a good kid who chooses good company.

Of course, she has her moments—who doesn’t? She gets cranky, she makes mistakes, and she sometimes gets in trouble. But she takes responsibility, learns, and grows. She’s finding herself and her voice, and I love that. Honestly, I get a little proud when she disagrees with us and stands her ground because it means she’s learning to use her voice—a skill I hope she never loses.

The Lies We Carry Into Parenthood

It makes me wonder where this stereotype of the difficult teenager really comes from. How much of it is us projecting our own perceptions onto them? How much of it is seeing ourselves in them?

I was the exact opposite of my teenage daughter—but I also had a different story, one that shaped my choices and behaviors in ways she doesn’t have to experience. I think, as a society, we internalized the messages that we were difficult as teenagers, and we carry those messages into parenthood. And in doing so, we begin to project them.

I was a hard teenager. I wrestled with depression. I numbed with drugs, sex, and alcohol. I skipped class—not to be defiant, but because I was too depressed to function. I skipped to sleep. I skipped to disappear. I skipped because being seen felt dangerous and painful, and I had already paid the price for that too many times. It was easier to blend in, to not show up, to just survive.

The reality is, my daughter isn’t in that place. And I spent years hoping, praying, and pouring into her so that wouldn’t have to be her story. My daughter won’t be the same teenager I was because we aren’t the same person. We don’t have the same story. She is a thousand steps ahead of me—mature, level-headed, strong, vibrant, and full of life. She has a safe space to offload the hard and painful experiences without judgment. She isn’t skipping class (though, as a homeschooler, that would be difficult), but instead, she’s planning her academic career and applying for college courses while still in high school. She is a thousand steps further than I was, and I couldn’t be more proud.

What If We Let Each Season Be What It Is?

But all of that to say—what if we stopped projecting our own teenage experiences onto our teenagers? What if we stopped letting funny yet harmful TikToks and Instagram reels about the awfulness of raising teenagers rob us of the joy we could have in this season?

What if we just let parenting be what it is—good, hard, messy, beautiful—without constantly bracing for the next harder thing?

The truth is, my teenage daughter heals me daily. She mends wounds she didn’t cause, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She is everything good in the world, and I feel so honored to know her and love her.

That’s not to say I always get it right. There are plenty of moments when my overwhelm outweighs my patience, when I raise my voice more than I’d like to admit. But she is gracious and kind—quick to forgive and slow to hold grudges.

So, I’m clinging to these last few years before she launches into the world, soaking them in and making all the memories I can. And maybe—just maybe—the teenage years feel easier because I have two wild boys who are still in the thick of their chaos, and their hard far outweighs anything teenagehood has thrown at me.

But I refuse to spend this season in fear of the next. Because every season has its challenges, but every season also has its joy. And I refuse to miss the beauty of now by bracing for the what ifs of tomorrow.