Why I Refuse to be My Daughter's Friend

I’m a 37 year old mom. My oldest is a girl, and she’s 11. I refuse to be her friend.

Sounds harsh, doesn’t it? In fact, many would say that I was wrong to say that I won’t be her friend.

I should be her friend so that she’ll talk to me.

I should be her friend so she knows she can count on me.

I should be her friend because, especially at the tween ages, life can be hard.

Each of those is a good reason why I should not be her friend.

At 11 years old, my daughter still talks to me. I have worked very hard to not be judgmental at any point in her life so that she understands that the lines of communication are always available and open. We have “free zone” every night to allow for this open conversation to happen.

She knows she can count on me because I follow through with what I say — and this includes punishment. It’s hard to hear her tell me she “hates” me or that she wishes she could live with someone else. But it’s not personal. She’s a tween. I distinctly remember saying this about my own parents. I even packed up my Barbie suitcase and headed up the road to a friend’s. But I went back. And I chalk this ability to spout off, “I hate you,” as another way she knows she can talk to me. If she’s comfortable enough to yell at me and tell me how she feels, then I’d call that a parenting win.

Life is hard. Super hard. We have all had to maneuver the best we could and use trial and error to figure it all out (if you’re like me, you still don’t have it all figured out). It’s through those horrifying mistakes that I’ve made that I’m able to make better choices now and offer advice when it’s requested. Because of the mean girls and the bad decisions and feelings of being alone, I have become stronger and wiser.

I can also empathize with my daughter whenever she feels the same way. Because my mom did the same with me. She was there when I needed her, but she wasn’t my friend.

My daughter has friends. They are 10/11/12 years old. They are in her same time of life. They can talk about boys they like and teachers they hate. They can run and play and fix each others’ hair. They can trade shoes and borrow shirts and gush about new hair styles.

She doesn’t need me for this.

She needs me to be the solid ground when one of those friends hurts her feelings or steals her boyfriend. She needs me to ground her when she makes really bad decisions and then be the voice of reason when she’s so mad at me that she won’t come out of her room except to eat. She needs me to guide her when she’s not sure what to do about a class, a homework assignment, a sport she might start.

She doesn’t need me to be her friend. She needs me to be her mom.

In a few years, this will change. She will grow up, start a family, and need me as more than her mom. Because at that point, she’ll pretty much have had the experiences she needs to have had with me on the sidelines. At that point, as has happened with my mom, I’ll get to step up and be more than just a guide. I’ll get to be a friend who can gush over her new baby or steal her cool new scarf.

I refuse to be my daughter’s friend. For now.

Tags: parenting