Can we please stop all the negative talk about teenage girls?

My daughter Willow is about to turn 14. If you have ever known a teenage girl, you’ll know how many skincare products have propagated in one very small bathroom. I honestly can’t imagine how she could use that much if she lived to be 114.

But along with propping up the global cosmetics market, I’ve noticed something else that comes with being 14 and female, and that is people I barely know warning me about my own daughter.

Jo Stanley and daughter Willow.

Strangers in a supermarket proffering unsolicited portents like a Shakespearean witch – “such pretty curls and golden locks, as mother you must revel, but beware the teenage girl, for she doth become the devil”.

To that I say, Dear World, can you please stop? I know that many girls hit their mid-teens and morph from meek to monster, angel to alien, sweet baby to surly, selfish little brat. But please, stop with the sarcastic “uh-oh” and the “quick, lock her away for three years until she’s human again”. Especially when she’s standing right next to me – you know she can hear you?

I find it infuriating. Firstly, because it’s reductive of her. Secondly, it has no empathy for her. But mostly, how very dare you – you don’t know my daughter! I know her better than anyone else on the planet, and even I can’t predict how, or who, she’ll be.

“I accept every part of her, and I don’t spend one minute predicting future disasters.”

She might run away and join the circus. She might secretly pierce every part of her body but her face. She might deeply wound her mother by becoming a conservative capitalist. So far she’s gone the other way and insists on wearing Crocs everywhere, which is painful enough.

But I accept every part of her, and I don’t spend one minute predicting future disasters. It’s a skill I developed after she was born, when we went through some hard years. Willow was born with a variety of health issues, which led to lots of appointments with brilliant doctors, more surgeries than I can now count, and moments of heart-stopping fear that felt like living in a bad dream. Except that the repeated, very concerning, prognoses were real.

Outside of this harsh reality, though, it was just me and Willow doing what mothers and babies do together – playing (us), singing (her), crying (me). The mundane became the best parts of our day and, as I focused only on her,

I found a joy in the now that trained me to be totally present with her and curious about her, so she could show me who she really was.

It became such an antidote to any worry about her future (which, of course, was still there in waves – I’m not a robot), it remains my mindfulness practice – and parenting philosophy – today. So now I’m resolved to approach these hard adolescent years the same. And no doubt they are hard. I am acutely aware that there are families for whom the teenage years are very distressing. This is not to diminish or dismiss those experiences.

Some teen girls are rude. Some girls are angry, but you don’t know what at. Some struggle with anxiety, others with depression, some with both. Some argue, some take risks. Some are loners and some party. Some hate their mothers, until magically one day they don’t any more.

But I believe all teenage girls are doing their best, and so are their parents. And in between the loneliness and confusion and desperate need to fit in, and the struggle to understand who they are becoming (truly, my heart bursts with empathy for our kids), our girls are interesting and kind and funny and courageous.

I’m actually excited for Willow. This is a time of creative freedom, new discoveries and crazy adventure. A time for risk-taking and mistakes, for testing her limits and living large. A time of FIRSTS! I can’t remember the last first I had. It was probably my first grey hair, which I can’t say I celebrated.

Willow, on the other hand, can expect her first love, first heartbreak, first job, first tattoo, first tattoo removal. I want her to push boundaries, slam doors, scream and cry and let the emotional roller-coaster she’s desperately trying to ride spew out of her. To bathe in the entire world’s supply of moisturiser if she needs to. Whatever it takes to get through to the other side.

I feel so privileged to be here for her, to soften her landing when she falls. Because whether she’s at her best or worst or in between, to me it’s all exactly as it should be.

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