We were driving when my daughter received the text: “Hey, if you haven’t checked your email, you’ve been accepted. It’s tomorrow at 9 AM.” She read it aloud, and I could barely contain my excitement. This was it! A perfect opportunity for her to get her feet wet in the working world and meet other teens—two things she’d been saying she wanted.
But as the night went on, her lack of enthusiasm became clear. She wasn’t brimming with the same excitement I was. Instead, she seemed worried, overwhelmed, and unprepared.
To me, this opportunity was everything she had been asking for. A 3-day grant reviewer program designed for teens? It sounded perfect. I had come across it and asked her if she wanted to apply. When she said yes, I eagerly sent in the application for her. But when the email confirming her acceptance arrived, she didn’t check it right away, even after I reminded her. Looking back, that hesitation should’ve been my first clue.
Was this something she truly wanted? Or was it just something I wanted for her?
At the time, I convinced myself this was her dream. But as her hesitation grew, my excitement turned to frustration, which turned to anxiety. The what-ifs flooded my mind. What if she never does anything? What if she misses out on every opportunity? What if, what if, what if?
By the end of the night, I was firm: You’re going. No ifs, ands, or buts.
She stormed off, and I stewed in my worry. But once we both had some space, a nagging thought crept in. Was this really about her? Or was this about me?
I thought about my own 15-year-old self. Would I have been ready to walk into a room of strangers, take on something as serious as grant review, and tackle the unknown? Absolutely not. So why was I pushing her to do this when she clearly wasn’t ready?
I texted her: You don’t have to go.
That small shift gave her space to process. And you know what? She said she wanted to try. She tried to fall asleep early, determined to prepare herself. But early the next morning, I got another text: Mom, I’m not ready. I don’t want to go.
This time, I replied: Okay.
She emailed the program and apologized for not being able to make it. And that was the end of it.
Here’s what I learned: This wasn’t about whether or not she would “ever do anything.” This was about her figuring out what she wants and when she’s ready to pursue it. It wasn’t the end of her story, just one small chapter in her journey of self-discovery.
As a parent, it’s so easy to project our hopes onto our kids—to see opportunities through the lens of our own excitement. But part of letting teens grow is letting them make their own choices. She didn’t miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; she chose what was right for her, in that moment.
And you know what? That’s okay.
