The hardest part about parenting teenagers isn’t the awkward conversations, it’s this

My daughter throws back her head, laughing as she sits on the living room floor, her navy sneakers peeking out from under her white tulle petticoat. As we both get stuck into our second piece of birthday cake, I can’t stop gazing at my firstborn. How have I become the mother of an 18-year-old?

Jessica Rowe with her two daughters, Allegra and Giselle Overton.Credit:

Finishing off the last sweet mouthful of buttercream icing, I recognise that my daughter’s laughter and wide smile are still those of the same little girl who’d insist on dressing herself up in layers of princess costumes. What has changed is that the young woman sitting cross-legged in front of me has confidence and a strong sense of self-worth, traits I never had when I was her age.

Like me, Allegra loves the fairytale of fashion, and she has spent almost a year planning this birthday outfit. Her long blonde hair covers her face as she leans over to tie up her shoelaces. I look at her pale peach ball gown skirt and black bandeau top, inspired by the work of designer Isaac Mizrahi, and smile.

Secretly, as a Gen-Xer, I’m chuffed that a ’90s look is considered cool in 2025. However, I haven’t been as quiet about reminding Allegra and her friends that I wore it first and know all the words to the George Michael songs they’re now obsessed with.

I sing the words, “Freedooooom, I won’t let you down ...” and think about how hard I tried to be the perfect mum when my girls were little; something I let go of long ago, when I came to accept that I am good enough as I am.

What I’m still struggling with is the letting go that comes as your children get older. What does having a “grown up” daughter mean? My throat catches when I think about her making her own way in the world. What if I’m not there to catch her? How can I protect her from pain, heartache and sadness? What if I miss the moments of undiluted joy? Who am I without her by my side?

It’s not long before she wants you to walk behind her in case anyone sees you together, and you do something embarrassing.

JESSICA ROWE

Motherhood is a series of “letting goes” that begin the moment you give birth. Suddenly, this little soul that had fluttered inside you is stretching its arms and legs, flailing to get out of the muslin wrap you’ve spent far too long trying to master before tucking her into the cot. Then she’s bolting away from you at the bottom of the slippery-dip because she’s not ready to leave the park yet. You let go of your need to get anywhere quickly because you’re not allowed to help her get dressed, brush her hair or put on her shoes and socks.

It’s not long before she wants you to walk behind her in case anyone sees you together, and you do something embarrassing. I revel in being embarrassing! And, as she grows, when the topics of friends, relationships and love come up, it’s impossible not to leap in with “helpful” advice, even if that includes my uninvited views on pornography.

“Muuuuum, I’m not talking to you about porn … that’s disgusting,” says Allegra. “I wasn’t asking you about that. Please, can you just drop me off and not turn this drive into a teaching moment!”

I’m getting better, most of the time, at letting go of the urge to talk at my daughters.

What I’ve discovered as my girls get older is the pure joy we can share, the adventures a lot more fun than the grind and tedium of when they were tiny. Together, we’ve enjoyed concerts, from Tyler, the Creator (his swearing notwithstanding) to Billie Eilish. And nothing beats laughing together at the most ridiculous stuff.

I’m learning that, even though my girls are growing up, letting go doesn’t mean my unconditional love for them will change. Letting go doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop worrying about them, or stop being ready to take their hurt and pain in a heartbeat.

And the older they’ve become, the more I’ve learnt to listen to them. I realise they’re not looking to me for all the answers, simply a safe space to be heard. And when I’m truly listening, I discover the lessons they have for me about life. They’ve shown me how to be braver, kinder, less judgmental – and how to recover my passwords.

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