A good friend of mine, Monika, came to see me recently looking anxious and worried, asking for help. She told me she didn’t know how to handle the changes she was seeing in her daughter, and feared something was wrong.
Her daughter, Preet, had become aggressive and was losing self-confidence, which surprised me, because I’d always known Preet to be sharp, confident, and outgoing. Monika explained that Preet had become overly conscious about small things. She was comparing herself to others constantly, noticing hair on her arms and legs she’d never paid attention to before, worrying over a single pimple, fixating on the shape of her nose, lips or eyes compared to her friends’, and deciding she wasn’t beautiful enough to be noticed. She’d also become irritable and was getting into frequent conflicts. Telling her she was beautiful, or that she shouldn’t compare herself to others, didn’t help. Every conversation about it turned into an argument, with Preet insisting her mother didn’t understand her.
Everything Monika described pointed to Preet stepping into her teenage years, a phase Monika perhaps wasn’t quite relating to yet.
I asked Monika if she’d ever been that focused on her looks, her weight, or on being noticed as beautiful. She laughed and joked that all women feel that way, regardless of age. But then she admitted she’d been intensely self-conscious at 12 or 13 too, convinced that every other girl was far more beautiful than her. Her experience mirrored Preet’s almost exactly.
I asked her, gently, how that was really any different from what Preet was going through now.
Monika replied, “But Preet’s still a baby. Isn’t it too soon for her to be thinking about all this?” And the rest of our conversation was full of “shoulds.”
When I asked Preet’s age, Monika looked genuinely startled to realise her daughter was about to turn 13. When I pointed out that this was completely normal for a teenager, she asked me again, “Is that really normal?”
I found myself wondering why we so easily forget our own journey through the different phases of life, especially our growing years.
Monika asked for my help, unsure of how to talk to Preet. We agreed that I would spend some time with Preet the next day, and that Monika would give us the space to talk. I told Preet beforehand that her mum had asked me to meet her, so there was nothing hidden. I wanted her to know she was walking into an honest conversation, not a staged one.
When I met Preet, I saw simply a girl growing up. It struck me how easily, as parents, we hold on to the image of our kids as “just kids,” resisting the fact that they’re growing.
I opened by telling her it was lovely to see her growing up, and that it reminded me of my own teenage years. I shared an experience of my own, because every child goes through something similar, and that set the tone. Preet listened closely. I wanted her to bring up her own issues rather than have me raise them for her.
She opened up, and we talked like friends.
I told Preet that while I genuinely found her beautiful and charming, it mattered more that she saw herself that way, because no one else’s opinion counts until you believe it yourself.
I asked her what would help her see herself as beautiful, and she started listing things: her skin, her features, and more.
We agreed there was no changing certain features, like the shape of her nose, eyes or lips, so we focused on what we could work on: her skin, the hair on her arms and legs, her hairstyle, her posture. She’d been comparing herself to heavily filtered photos her friends shared, so I used my phone’s beautification filters to show her how unreal those images actually were, and how comparing herself to them was quietly damaging her confidence. We talked through everything beyond physical appearance that adds to a person’s presence, and mapped out where she felt she was now versus where she wanted to be.
I told her honestly that getting there would take real effort, and I shared my own struggles and setbacks at her age. I explained that the body naturally changes during this phase, and that it’s temporary, so there was no need to worry too much. Then I showed her an awkward photo from my own teenage years. She laughed, and I could see it gave her real hope and acceptance of the process.
She made her own commitment to become who she wanted to be. She had a strong “why” of her own, and from there I gently guided her toward habits and routines that felt like her own decisions. Her focus shifted toward becoming a better version of herself. She found hope that things would improve with effort, and a real sense of responsibility showed up on her face.
Ten days later, Monika called to say how happy she was with how wise and responsible Preet had become. I was happy for them both.
Isn’t it simple, really? All it takes is genuine intent, empathy, patience, and the ability to think about how you’d have wanted things handled, had you been the child.
Preet’s story is every teenager’s story, and it’s also every parent’s story from when they were teens themselves. Ironically, as adults, we tend to only think like a parent to our children, forgetting this is a universal phase everyone goes through.
Empathize with your child, and it will be magical.
