They Still Need Us

I remember the first time I saw my daughter, Harlem.
I was lying on an exam table in the radiology department, clutching the crinkly paper beneath me, staring at the monitor where her tiny heart flickered steadily across the screen. That little heartbeat, steady and strong, was the beginning of everything.

Now Harlem is 12. A full-on preteen: smart, beautiful, funny, kind and blessed with her own blossoming opinions about everything from what she wears to how she spends her time.
She’s growing into herself in all the best ways, but if there's one thing I’ve learned as her mother, and as a principal who watches hundreds of kids grow up year after year it’s this: even though they seem so independent, our kids still need us.

I say it every year at our promotion ceremonies, standing in front of proud, teary-eyed parents who are watching their babies walk across the stage:
Don't stop being their parent just because they look like they don’t need you anymore.
They do.
Maybe not in the same way like diaper changes, tying shoes and wiping snotty noses, but with something deeper now.
They need our love.
They need our guidance.
They need our quiet presence in their messy, complicated, amazing lives.

At home, it’s not always easy to remember that. Life moves fast. Between schoolwork, activities, chores, and work, sometimes it feels like the whole day disappears before I even get a chance to sit down.
But slowing down matters.
Connection matters.
It’s in the small, everyday things that the bond stays strong.

Sit at the dinner table together, phones down, TV off. Take a walk around the neighborhood with no agenda except conversation. Laugh, argue, be silly. We love playing pickleball and riding our bikes together, zipping through the streets like we have all the time in the world. In those moments, Harlem and Hunter open up in ways they never would if I were just barking reminders about homework or bedtime.

I ask Harlem about her friends, her day, what’s on her mind and I listen. Really listen. Sometimes I offer advice, carefully and lightly, because nobody wants a lecture pretending to be a conversation. But mostly, I just make sure she knows:
I'm here.
No matter how old she gets.

And then there’s my 10-year-old daughter, Hunter.
She’s spicy in all the best ways, louder than her big sister, quicker with her questions, and never shy about demanding answers.
When Hunter calls out, “Mommy!” with that perfect mix of sweetness and sass, I know I better be ready - to listen, to explain, to show up.
She keeps me sharp. She keeps the conversations honest and alive.
Hunter reminds me every single day: kids don’t just want love, they want to be known. They want us to be curious about who they are. They want us close, even when they're busy pushing for a little more space.

Because here’s the truth nobody really prepares you for:
Parenting doesn’t end, it evolves over time and with experience.
It becomes less about doing for them and more about being with them.
Being steady. Being present. Being loving, even when they roll their eyes and insist they’re "fine" and "don’t need anything."
(They do. Trust me. They just need it differently.)

Harlem’s heartbeat on that screen was the beginning of a journey that I’m still on that’s less about controlling her path and more about walking beside her, ready whenever she reaches out.
With Hunter right beside her lighting up every room she walks into with her energy, her questions, and her unstoppable spirit, I’m learning to stretch even further.
To love them loudly, gently, persistently, no matter how big they get or how far they roam.
Motherhood isn’t a season.
It’s a lifetime gig.

If you’re raising a preteen, a teen, or even a grown child, hear me when I say:
They still need you.
Stay close.
Keep showing up.
Keep asking.
Keep listening.
Keep loving… fiercely, quietly, unconditionally.

Because even when they roll their eyes or say they’ve got it all figured out, deep down
they still need their Mommy.
And they always will.