Once upon a time, I had a little boy who loved trains and cars. We’d sit for hours watching Thomas the Tank Engine or Lightning McQueen, and life was simple. Then, seemingly overnight, he traded train tracks and race tracks for trap beats and declared Kanye a “creative genius.” < insert creative *sigh* here.

Now, instead of bedtime stories, I get one word answers, grunts or am completely ignored. Apparently, I destroyed his social life with one bad haircut. ONE. The kind of haircut that, in my defense, looked perfectly fine to anyone with functioning eyes. But to him? It was a personal betrayal. And one I need to dig myself out of.

If you’ve ever tried to reason with a teenage boy mid-haircut meltdown, you know it’s like trying to explain taxes to an excited Westie puppy. Pointless. Believe me, I know.

So here I am, deep in the teenage trenches. where affection comes in the form of grunts, eye rolls, and empty Halloween snack wrappers scattered all around. (Believe me, there are a lot of all the above).

Psychologists like Dr. Laurence Steinberg have been kind enough to confirm that my son’s erratic behaviour is, in fact, science. His brain is still “under construction,” particularly the part that handles judgment, impulse control, and empathy. Fantastic. So basically, I’m living with a human whose emotions run on a professional race car driver, but he’s still a few years away from his beginners.

But there’s a heavier layer to it, too. Growing up in a family touched by addiction means he’s got some extra battles brewing beneath that “toughness”. Research in the Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry shows that kids from these backgrounds are more likely to wrestle with anxiety, depression. So yes, I confiscate the phone when he gets “wordy.” Yes, I break every rule of teenage privacy. But then I see his TikTok feed full of reposted videos about how boys “can’t live without their mum,” and suddenly my anger melts into guilt and heartbreak. Because that’s how he communicates right now… not through words, but algorithms. And it’s taken me a hot minute to understand what an algorithm really is.

The silver lining? Chris… our human anchor. Calm, patient, the kind of guy who can diffuse a nuclear meltdown with a single look. Every storm has its quiet, and in this house, his name is Chris.

Anyways, moving on… Let’s talk about staying close when your teenager treats you like a Wi-Fi signal (only appreciated when you’re gone).

Here’s what psychologists suggest, with my real-world translations:

1. Give space (but don’t disappear).
   Dr. Ken Ginsburg calls it being a “lighthouse parent.” Translation: Stand tall, shine bright, and only step in when they’re about to crash into the rocks. Otherwise, stay quiet and sip your tea.
2. Talk less, listen more.
   Or, if he’s not talking, listen to the silence. That’s where the real stuff hides. Resist the urge to interrogate. It’s like trying to get Alexa or Siri (ps. none of the two listen) to confess feelings.
3. Validate the drama.
   When he’s raging over a haircut, nod like it’s a life-altering crisis. “I get it. This is tough.” (Internally: it’s hair, buddy, it grows.)
4. Model calm… even when you want to scream into a pillow.
   They don’t need a perfect parent, just a consistent one. Bonus points if you can fake serenity while Googling “can you survive teen hormones.”
5. Keep rituals alive.
   Fries in the van, music in the car, handwritten notes on his desk… those little acts remind him that love doesn’t expire just because his lovely attitude showed up.
6. Encourage good male role models.
   Coaches, mentors, anyone who can tell him what you’ve been saying for years… but in a deeper voice so he believes it. Cool, right?
7. Hold boundaries like a boss.
   Confiscating his phone might make you “the villain,” but villains have Wi-Fi and snacks. Stand firm. He’ll thank you someday. (Probably in therapy, but still.)

The truth is, if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry (and probably never stop). Humour is our family’s life raft. It’s how we survive the slammed doors, the late-night heart-to-hearts, and the mornings when everyone wakes up on emotional fire.

Because when you’re raising teenage boys, you learn quickly that sarcasm is cheaper than therapy, and laughter is the only sound that cuts through the chaos.

So I’ll keep showing up… with fries, forgiveness, and the occasional bad haircut. Because even on the hardest days, this gig is still the most ridiculous, exhausting, hilarious love story I’ve ever known.