Some nights are great. I get my routine done and into bed by my pre-set bedtime. Other nights, like tonight, I decide it would be a good idea to try to have a conversation with my very hormonal teenage daughter.

I’m pretty certain I could write a book on How to Fuck up your child 101. I was told however, that I should not give myself that much credit.

I am not the best at giving loving, giving, heart felt advice. As my Popi once said, “if you looking for sympathy, try the dictionary between shit and syphylus.” My emotions tend to hover between stoic silence, anger crying and delirium.

I wasn’t the most outgoing teenager either. I had maybe two friends and some how still got used and abused. I didn’t fit in and still really don’t most days. I’m older now so that ship has sailed whether I give a shit.

So here I am sitting on my teenage daughters bed giving her the worst pep talk of her life. No really, if this was a movie this would be the scene where she did something rebellious with her friends like steal a car or run over prom date. She sobbing. Of course she is. Once a month the female species loses their minds. Still doesn’t excuse my shit pep talk.

Maybe it’s from being an only child brought into the world by two people who never really got their shit together. We weren’t drug addicts or child abusers; so really in the scheme of things we did okay. I felt I was a single mom before and after the relationship.

I was paralyzed by anxiety. I had a lot shit to unpack from being in an unhealthy situation and how I got there. I didn’t get a full time job because I worried about being away from my daughter, so I worked two part time jobs. That makes sense right? Anxiety and being in an unhealthy relationship made my brain do weird things, like hesitation on making decisions. The funny part is I made it though 1 year of dental assisting school while my personal life was a complete disaster. I mean going to school after having been tossed across a room 15 minutes before kind of mess. So I get her anxiety. I see it. It’s tangible and real.

I have worked on my personal shit through therapy, personal development, Pendleton whisky, and work outs. And I have a ton of empathy for that fear and out of control feeling; but, girl pull your shit together.

Easy for me to say. Years of coming to terms with my own bullshit and straight forward friends who saw me and set me straight every time I went into the ditch.

So I sat on her bed, watched her cry and I hugged her. I held her and I told her she was capable of so much more then this fear was allowing her to see. I held her and told her that she was so afraid of not being in control she was losing the magic of now.

I should probably take my own advice on some things.

And then at the end of this shit pep talk where I said everything wrong she wiped her nose and looked at me and said, “ I didn’t know I was letting my fear get in the way of every thing. I don’t think I have bad anxiety because I don’t feel it every day. So thank you.”

That’s how I know I don’t deserve a kid as wonderful as she is. Because she found a rainbow in the middle of a mess.

I think my sister was right when she said we would make better ‘80s moms: minus the tab and cigarettes.

The title of my book will be called How to drive it out of the ditch: a parents guide.

Don’t worry, she’s seeing a therapist.

*If you are having issues with dealings of life, please seek help. You’d be amazed at how many people need to hear your story.*