The scary mentor.

I have never once met a middle schooler who truly didn't care what their parents think. Not one. In thousands of clinical hours, across seven kids of my own . . . not one. And I know that's hard to believe, because I get pushback on this every single time I say it. It does not feel true at your kitchen counter.

But here's what I met instead, over and over. Parents in one room telling me, "We have the most awesome kid." And that same kid, in the other room, quietly certain they're the problem in the family. Both completely sincere. Both missing each other completely.

Because here's what's happening inside that kid: they are writing stories about what you think of them. "She thinks I'm irresponsible." "I'm kind of a lot for this family." Nobody assigns these stories. Kids write them alone, out of whatever evidence the week handed them . . . a sigh, a tone, a glance at the report card.

So try this. Think of yourself as a mentor who is maybe just a little scary. Remember having one . . . someone whose opinion mattered so much it made you clumsy? And remember the one sentence you wished they'd said: "I see you, and I like what I see." In your kid's life, that person is you. You're not the nagging voice they ignore. You're the mentor whose face they can't stop checking.

So talk to your kid this week the way you wished your mentor had talked to you. Not more carefully . . . more clearly. Let them catch you liking them. Your kid knows you love them the way they know you have a mortgage. What they're checking is whether you like them . . . and that question, you get to answer on purpose.