A well-meaning dad in my practice came into my office at his regular time, his eyes wide, perched at the edge of the couch. He wanted to share something; he could hardly keep it in.
“I realized something this week,” he blurted breathlessly.
I waited, wondering which of the many tangled moments had just been unfurled:
“My son is not ME!”
This may seem obvious from an intellectual standpoint; we all know this is true. In my experience over 30 years of seeing parents and families, and as a mother myself, I know that most of us act as if it were not true—that, in some way (much of the time) our teen is us.
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