2013-05-19T04:30:29-04:00 John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/index.php?author=john-duffy-psyd Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for John Duffy, Psy.D. Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1027550 2011-11-11T18:13:08-05:00 2012-01-11T05:12:01-05:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
"When you spend all of your time nurturing your inner child, you are that child."

Man, he is so right.

In this particular instance, the young man, we'll call him 'Tim,' was referencing his own mother, who had suffered some degree of negligence and abuse as a child. For many years, Tim felt badly for his mother. She was so highly anxious. She had been emotionally brittle his entire life. She would lose her temper at a moment's notice. She was often frightened to leave home.

So, being a 'good boy,' Tim would try and comfort her. He often found her to be inconsolable, grief-stricken by a loss he could neither see nor understand.

In retrospect, Tim realized that his mother leaned on him heavily, even as a young child. He was expected to be a rock, a foundation for her ever-crumbling sense of self. Now in his late teens, Tim is fully aware of how unfair it was to expect this kind of support from him, and how ill-equipped he was to deliver. In the meantime, his mother was symptomatic to the point of atrophy. She would hoard, over-eat, diet, quit jobs. The house would at times be filthy. Appliances would fail, and languish in disrepair for years. From a shockingly young age, Tim would be charged with shopping for groceries, answering the phone, repeating egregious, cover-up lies to grandparents, friends and neighbors.

His entire life, Tim has been confused by his feelings toward his mother. Her pain became his world, managing it his mission. Yet somewhere deep down, he always felt deeply ashamed of himself for feeling ashamed of his poor, wounded mother.

But Tim grew up, and recognized something askew at home relative the world around him. And at some point, he tired of it. All of it. He tired of compensating for his mother's ongoing anxieties, and her refusal to truly acknowledge or address her issues in any direct or constructive manner.

Now, Mom has a therapist. In fact, she has had a therapist for the past thirty years. Thirty years! And for all of this time, she and her therapist have been conspiring to process and heal the wounds of her youth. This quest is brutal, exhausting and circular. It is also unquestionably endless.

Tim wonders aloud how his mother ever plans to move beyond this point, and then realizes that she never intends to do so. This is it. This is her life, a life that had initially been foisted upon her, unwittingly and terribly. But now, it is a life she chooses, every moment, every day. And she has created a carefully-selected support system for her stasis.

I am a psychologist, a clinician. I like to think of myself as an empathic guy. But I fear sometimes that our well-intentioned conception of the "inner child" is both a grave disservice and a grand illusion. If we are always healing, we have selected a built-in excuse, possibly sub-conscious, for opting out of anything adult. Instead, we are forever hurt. We are irreparably wounded.

We are victims.

Now, I swear I do not intend to minimize anyone's traumas, especially if they took place, as so many often do, during childhood. The problem is, we can spend a lifetime revisiting injustices suffered decades ago. And in doing so, we miss the present. We are predestined to miss the future.

The victimization that comes with inner child healing is rife with future regret.

So, I pose this challenge to anyone engaged in the lifelong process of nurturing the inner child: nurture your inner adult. Allow yourself to revisit the past. Process the pain. And then get a life.

And I mean this not in a flip, dismissive way, but quite literally. Because whenever we are victims of the past, we are not living. We are not present, nor are we available, ever, to ourselves or anyone else. We are simply powerless.

The inner adult is an especially important concept for those of us who are parents. If we cannot resolve our early internal injuries, then we certainly cannot parent. Instead, we are children. We require parenting. We demand it from everyone around us. We are insatiable. We are effectively crippled, after all.

And our children grow up much like Tim, emotional tightrope walkers, guessing when the winds may shift. The children of the victim are not allowed to explore the world with safety. They know no safety. They know little joy. They are the future wounded, sure to feel the need to nurture their own inner children once awareness of their neglect becomes apparent.

To bring a happy child into the world, and make them unhappy. Is that okay? Under any circumstances?

So, nurture your inner adult. Be strong, powerful and present. Work to become whole. This is where the healing is, the greatest kindness the suffering can bestow upon herself.

Growing up is the ultimate salve for the wounded soul.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.944339 2011-09-07T18:45:00-04:00 2011-11-07T05:12:02-05:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
Those of us who were normal workaday adults on Sept. 10, 2001, making lunches, sitting in traffic, watching the clock, checking inventory, we remember. That was the last ordinary day.

The fear, anxiety and despair that marked the next morning will be forever etched vividly into our collective memories. The trauma has evaporated with time, to be sure. Yet we don't forget. We mark Sept. 11 every year. We honor the fallen and their families with an appropriate moment of silence. We choke up. Remembering.

And without a doubt, the collective chest of Adult America remains shaken, a bit more constricted, even to this day. It's palpable. You can feel it in our politics and economy. In our rhetoric and intolerance. In our headlines and on our screens. In our suspicions, our dark humor, our sideways glances, our makeshift profiling in every public place.

I like to think that, with each passing year, it's getting better. We breathe a bit easier. We are less spooked. I like to think we're happier.

But there's no doubt that terrorism works. They got us.

Yet there is hope.

Thinking about the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I've been asking teenagers about their experience of that day, and the decade that has passed since.

I asked if they remember the day. And they do. Of course they do. But what they seem to remember most, curiously, is us, our reactions:

"My mom was crying so hard."

"It looked like a movie to me, but I remember my parents acting really strange."

"My mom and dad were whispering about whether to take me to school."

I asked if they understood 9/11, the gravity of the events, and the complex implications for the country. Once again, they grasped all of this surprisingly well: who the global players were, and who they were not. I was impressed.

As an afterthought, I asked if they were scared. None of them, not one, said yes. A couple smiled and laughed at the idea.

One might be inclined to read their reaction as either a certain cluelessness to the "real dangers" lurking in the shadows, or adolescent bravado, the immortality complex we tend to attribute, with a wide and uneven brush, to teenagers.

I didn't hear either of those. Instead, I heard a certain resolve in their tone, an unwillingness to live life in fear. These teens understand the dangers. But they are choosing a life without fear. These makeshift Q&As were wholly encouraging experiences.

As one young man, a new second grader on the day of the attacks, said to me, "Regardless of whether the boogeyman is coming to get you, there's no point in living in fear. You want to be smart, but if you don't live, they win anyway."

I often suggest to parents that they talk with their kids about current events, to teach them how the world works. But more and more, I think we'll make better decisions, for ourselves, our family, our country, everyone, if we listen to them, as well.

Terrorism works. We felt terror in the moment. We're a bit anxious still, affected, paranoid, cautious, in these moments.

Yes, the truth is, the terrorists may have gotten us.

But they didn't get our kids.

So there is hope.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.884207 2011-08-30T11:04:00-04:00 2011-10-30T05:12:02-04:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/ effects of electronics on the brain of today's teenager. We all know that teenagers have abundant access to technology that was considered far-off and space-aged just a few short years ago. Further, many teens alarm their parents, concerned that they use computers and cell phones far too often. And research bears out the excessive use. In the piece, Dr. Nancy Snyderman states that teens expose themselves to media 7 and a half hours a day, which is alarming enough, but when multiple devices are taken into effect, that average jumps to 11 hours per day. That's some eye strain!

In my clinical practice, I see frequent referrals in which parents are deeply concerned with their teen's overuse of electronics. They cite myriad fears, including stress, lack of attention to schoolwork, too little face-to-face contact with others, a decrease in social skills, and brain damage. Their concerns are not wholly unfounded. In fact, I have worked with many teens who sit across from me, cell phone in hand, deftly answering texts, often one after another, while carrying on a conversation with me. When I ask some teens to turn their phone off during sessions, there is often protest: "I've got an important text I'm waiting for," or, "My girlfriend expects me to be available."

I agree with many of my clients' parents. Sometimes, it's just too much. Too much for teens to take in. Too much data, all at once. Too much contact. And, dare I say, too much availability.

Further, because headlines highlight the terrible risks associated with all of this technology (Facebook predators, brutal bullying with deadly consequences, errant photos that can result in an expulsion from school [or Congress]), parents approach it all from a point of fear. Most parents try to limit their teenagers' exposure to screens, capping monthly text messages and drawing boundaries around computer time. This is a fine idea and, in fact, I agree that most teens spend way, way too much time staring at small screens.

But, there is another side to this story. Though very useful and informative, the NBC piece fails to mention the most taxing element of all of this for parents. In my experience, the problem for parents lies primarily in how little they know about the technology their children use. I worked recently with a mother and her 16-year-old daughter. The mom complained that her daughter was staring at Facebook while doing homework. I asked the daughter whom she chatted with during these hours, and the mom was immediately perplexed. When I asked her daughter to explain Facebook Chat to her mom, the latter was aghast. She had no idea that her daughter was "talking" with peers while working, or that this had been going on for years.

I have witnessed countless similar examples. Parental anxiety is driven by what they don't know and don't understand, and underscored by the scary headlines. So, what can parents do to counterbalance their fears? Well, I encourage my clients' parents to set up makeshift tutorials, in which their teenager teaches them about the technology they use. Teenagers like to be experts, and I've found that they are very good teachers.

Several parents have suggested to me that they do not want to learn how to text, how Facebook works, or how to play "Call of Duty." They may feel it's all a colossal waste of time. Perhaps they disapprove of their child's use of electronic devices, or the language they use.

I typically tell them that not only is most every teen deeply involved in today's tech-based culture, but none of this is going away. Our teens enjoy it, yes, but they also know nothing different. And the teenager who is not involved is often left out. Cell phones and Facebook undoubtedly matters, quite a bit, to your teen. So, if you choose to ignore it, you may miss an important element of your teen's life. I think parents need to get on the Tech Train before it leaves the station. And after all, unless you're the Zuckerbergs, none of this was your child's idea in the first place. It's just a part of their culture.

I worked with one father in particular who struggled quite a bit in relating to his teenage daughter. An old-fashioned guy, he wanted her to stare at screens less. He wanted her friends and boyfriends to call the house, instead of her cell phone, so that he could get to know them. His daughter, on the other hand, felt her father was deeply out of touch with today's realities. As a result, father and daughter rarely spoke, and when they did, there was conflict. I convinced him to make use of his technological enemies, the cell phone in particular. She was a seasoned texter, so we hypothesized that she may text her father back if he texted her.

Reluctantly, he began texting once or twice a day, a basic "How r u?" or "Howz ur day?" She ignored him for a few days, but soon began texting back. Emboldened, he texted "I love you" on occasion. In one instance, he received an "I love you" back.

He told me he was sold on texting from then on.

And really, there's not so much to be afraid of here, if you're an informed parent. Research cited in the NBC piece shows that some of this multitasking actually enhances brain development. Just imagine how flexible one's thinking must be if he can do homework and text simultaneously, for instance. And the teen brain is also becoming ever more expert at culling useful information from chatter, another useful skill in a developing brain. The news is not all bad.

So, I encourage parents to embrace today's technology. Learn all about it from your child. Take the fear out of the equations, so that the boundaries you set are reasonable. It may make your life easier, but, more importantly, it may help you to stay connected to your teen. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.912031 2011-08-23T12:14:00-04:00 2011-10-24T05:12:01-04:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
I get that there are many reasons to forgo the trip. Work doesn't let up just because the days are longer and the sun is brighter. We're broke. The summer's booked with travel leagues and summer school and part-time jobs at day camps or grocery stores. We hate packing. And sand.

But let's face it: Lennon was right. Life happens to you while you're busy making other plans.

Here's my anecdotal pitch for the family vacation: my family and I are driving, right now, through upper Michigan. We made certain plans to stay in certain places, visit certain points of interest. We might remember some of these, a historic church or some ancient cannon resting, rusting on some long-forgotten field of battle. I hope we remember some of those.

But it's the unplanned stuff that I think drives the culture of a family. We create our inside jokes on these trips. We compile our family soundtracks: "Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall" is the tune on this particular trip. Last night, we had this moment when my son, in a sudden rush of comedic adrenaline, ran briskly down a street and posed, face to the sky, eyes blissfully closed, arms spread wide, for a photo. It was a killer moment, and we laughed with unadulterated joy.

In all likelihood, that never would have happened at home.

I just now took a moment to watch my wife and son in the front seat from back here. They look so alike: same eyes, same hair, same ears. I never noticed the ears before. They both nod in perfect rhythm.

As busy as I am, I might not have taken the time to notice these things at home, either. We see things differently when we free ourselves from our element. In a good way.

For some families, the vacation is the only time they really play together, laugh together, break the ties of the everyday and see each other with dimension: Dad without a necktie, Mom laughing herself goofy, kids singing together in harmony.

This stuff is the glue of resilience for a family. Growing up, my family never, ever loaded the car for a vacation. In the rear-view mirror, I realize that we could have used one on occasion. We had an onslaught of tough times before us that none of us could have anticipated. A set of fond memories might have held us together a bit more than separation. I know It's tough to draw a straight line between a sunny summer vacation and some unknown dark days ahead, but they are without a doubt connected. If we have these times, we can handle those times. Simple as that.

So pack up the car and go. Travel safe, and have a blast! ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.871380 2011-06-15T19:41:00-04:00 2011-08-15T05:12:01-04:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
Now, I knew that my father loved me. He told me so. Every day. But he was busy. He had a job, neckties, meetings. He washed the car on weekends, kicked the tires, smoked a pipe, edged. I think a lot of dads a generation ago were like mine. Our fathers were stoic.

I've heard fathers claim in my office that their children treat them like ATMs. Well, the fathers of a generation ago were not ATMs. Not exactly. They were more like vending machines. They dispensed -- advice, life lessons, closed-ended questions, spankings, lectures, punishments, disappointed head shakes, occasional approving glances, fear. Once in a while, I suppose they did actually dispense cash.

Sure, dads would play with their kids back then. But we were not our fathers' playmates. Our fathers were emotionally removed, somehow. We weren't close to our dads. We didn't actually talk to them, or know them. This was not a reflection of negligence; it was simply not part of the job description for a dad. The connection thing was out of their purview and handled elsewhere.

That's where moms came in. The overt expression of love, this was mom stuff, as was the creative play, the self-esteem building, the making of sandwiches, the drying of tears, the day-to-day parenting -- mom stuff. Our dads did their jobs as dads. They earned. They provided. They dispensed.

Well, in the last generation or so, the role of dad has definitely changed. Today, dads arrange to shift their workday an hour or two earlier to coach a team, or secure prime recording seats for a budding viola player's concert. Dads build forts, help with school projects, play video games. Dads today are willing to laugh with their kids. This is huge. Dads protect time. Sure, we may still dispense, but we also connect.

I think we recognize that we do not want to miss some of those moments our own fathers were willing to miss. We have decided, quite overtly, that we want to be closer with our kids. We want to be there to see them shaking off sleep in the morning, to kiss their shaggy heads good night. We want to know their joy, and their heartbreak. Sometimes, we want to be the shoulder to cry on, the homework buddy. We want to be there to see the home run, the drum solo or the lead role. A text will simply not do.

We dads today are without a doubt closer to our kids. Now, I'm not sure why this rather seismic shift has taken place. I suspect it might have been a selfish thing at first -- why should moms have all the fun, after all? Whatever the reason, I know a couple things for certain. We're better off this way. We're better fathers, for sure. We enjoy fatherhood as well. I'm not sure our own dads could have said that. And our kids can enjoy a degree of connection and comfort with their fathers that might have seemed absurd just a short while ago.

A friend of mine, a high-profile attorney, protected time last year to coach his daughter's softball team to the state championship game. I suspect that he may be more proud of that accomplishment than being a high-profile attorney. Another dad I know takes his teenage sons on concert dates, and they take turns choosing the artists. Yet another dad is his daughter's emotional rock as he guides her through the darkness of her depression, occasionally shedding an empathic tear himself. These are the New Dads.

When I was a younger man, my father and I protected a week for each other every year. We spent countless hours aimlessly walking endless beaches, riding choppy waves, achieving downright irresponsible sunburns. At nights, over lobster and Coca-Cola, we would recount stories, weave philosophies and laugh like maniacs. We connected, man!

I'll be forever grateful that he and I took the time to foster that connection before he passed away, but if I'm being honest, I wish I had had that connection with him years earlier. He didn't need me to fear him to make an impact. He would have had my love and respect in spades. He was smart, insightful, a blast. He cherished relationships over money. He had a most generous spirit and the heartiest laugh I've ever known. He made it his mission to help people. And he impacted so many lives that I hear surprising new stories about him all the time. He led a simple, joyful life.

I was lucky; I got a do-over with my dad, but it looks like today's generation will get to know their heroes even sooner. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.865041 2011-05-27T14:58:00-04:00 2011-07-27T05:12:01-04:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
Not knowing what else to do with my own anxiety, I went to work. As a therapist, it is often easier to focus on someone else's troubles than your own. Even if you think those troubles might be identical.

Well, I remember that some of the teenagers I worked with that day were scared as well. One girl said she saw her father cry for the first time that morning. A boy naively expressed relief that all the bad guys were dead, blown up in their own deadly scheme. A couple of teens never brought up the day's terrifying events. In those sessions, we talked about girlfriend troubles, curfews, homework and how awesome it was to get out of school early.

What a difference a decade makes.

One teenage client of mine arrived in my office a couple weeks back grinning broadly in a Desert Storm camo cap, emblazoned with the Stars and Stripes over each ear. He was celebrating. Osama bin Laden was dead. In fact, every single teen and tween that I have worked with or talked to since have had some reaction:

"I'm glad for the families of 9/11 victims."

"I think it's so sick that people are celebrating that someone is dead. It just seems weird to me."

"Ten years of war. I wish I could have pulled that trigger myself, man. I would have loved that."

Unlike my young charges from a decade earlier, my clients today have grown up with a different level of awareness. They've grown up with war. They know about terror alerts. They can find Afghanistan on a map. They've seen a different level of anxiety in the adults around them. They know that not everybody loves America.

They take their shoes off at the airport.

They recognize overtly that their security is not a sure thing. Most of my earlier clients would never had any reason to even consider their security.

So now there's a new wrinkle in the story: Osama is dead. Parents are already asking me how to talk to their kids about the arc of the past 10 years, the wars, the threats, and why they might be happy, really happy, to hear a man is dead.

Well, first off, in order to guide our kids, we need to be well-informed and teach our kids how to be well-informed themselves. Read newspapers and magazines. Gather information online, and teach your kids to read, watch and listen with a discerning eye. Many teenagers are aware, in ways that many of us were not, that appearing in print or online does not make something true.

My teen clients have complained to me that their parents have a tendency to shove their politics, feelings about war, presidents, good guys and bad guys, down their throats. In my opinion, this is an opportunity lost. In these days, there is a potential to allow for discourse with our teens about the devastation of war, and how the wars, September 11, various Middle Eastern nations, the United States and the cost of a barrel of oil are interconnected.

Believe me, this is a generation of thinkers. Given the opportunity, they will generate and express more thoughtful and well-considered opinions than many of us might think them capable of. Listen, and let your teen surprise you.

So, I have a strong bias in favor of teaching teens to think, not telling them what to think.

But what about the fear factor?

Well, I think some parents have an impulse to protect their children from the potential threats of the real world. Others may over-state the threats. I've heard a number of parents suggest directly to their teenager that the world is a scary place, that an internal terror alert is appropriate given the state of affairs worldwide.

I don't know about you, but I don't want my teenage son to walk through his life in a state of fear. Period.

You'll have to decide how you talk to your teen about war, terror and the war on terror. I just encourage you to take the opportunity to talk. And to listen.

As for me, I want my son to sleep well at night, confident that he is safe. But I don't want him to be ignorant to the world around him. I want him to take very little for granted. I want him to know there are people out there, right now, fighting for his freedom.

I want him to know how fortunate he is to be an American.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.852203 2011-05-10T15:34:00-04:00 2011-11-17T09:02:45-05:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
Some 30 or so years ago, legend has it, a group of Bay Area high schoolers decided they would meet after school, at 4:20 p.m., and get high. Over the years, the date, 4/20, has become a de facto celebration. April 20 was, effectively, National Pot Smoker's Day. One young man described it to me as a day off, a "holy day" for pot smokers.

And believe me, pot smokers do not mess around on 4/20. They smoke pot. A lot of it. Weed, grass, Mary Jane, dope, bongs, bowls, blunts, joints, vaporizers, volcanoes, all floats in the 420 parade. I've learned this the hard way over the years in my practice. I've had many a slack-jawed, slow-responding teen on my couch on this anniversary many times. It just took me a while to figure it out.

The truth is, this is a strange time of year to be the parent of a teenager. The end of the school year is approaching, and most parents agree that the fourth quarter brings with it a palpable shift in energy, a nervous, "can't-wait-for-summer-but-there's-still-so-much-to-do" kind of energy. Many of us are also vaguely aware that some real tragedies have taken place right around this date. April 19 is the anniversary of the school shooting at Columbine, for instance, and I work with parents and school personnel, who are still anxious for that last bell on the 19th.

And then there's 420 itself. You may think that your child is still young enough, that your community is protective enough, that her friends are good enough kids, that your teen is somehow immune to these negative outside influences -- we'll call them the "420s", for now. You may fear that just bringing up the whole pot thing would be a mistake, the potency of the power of suggestion. You may be sure that your baby would never be a 420-er.

I get that.

But on days like 420, I encourage you to err on the side of openness and communication over fear and silence. Talk to your child about the "420s." More importantly, ask her about them:

"What happens, and where?"

"How do kids go home high without their parents finding out?"

"How do you decide what you're going to do?"

In my opinion, if in your mind pot is going to be the devil, at least make it the devil you know.

Be aware of the possibility that your child has some thoughts, feelings and perhaps fears about the 420s, and be open to hearing her out. But keep in mind that you will only be consulted if you are calm, open and non-judgmental. Otherwise, you are tuned out immediately.

Admittedly, it can be tough to keep this dynamic in your lens of awareness at times. After all, the 420s make a lot of us pretty nervous. I've known many a parent who holds her breath through a quick lecture on the perils of, say, drug use: how wrong it is to do drugs, how they can kill, how addictions can ruin lives, how one drug may be a gateway to another and so on. Once the lecture is delivered, I think we can fool ourselves into patting ourselves on the back for a job well done, and we can check the drug talk off the "good parent" to do list. Most of us can tell ourselves quite honestly that, with said lecture, we have officially done more than our parents ever did with regard to talking about drugs.

But it's not that simple. The one-sided, one-time-only lecture clashes directly with the concepts of openness and availability. Many teens have told me in the wake of lectures that their parents clearly don't understand. Far from helping the cause, many lecturing inadvertently send a "don't talk to me, I'll just lecture you and perhaps ground you" vibe to their teen. Don't let this be you. It's always a better story to be part of the discussion. If you listen, you might find that your teen has some interesting thoughts on the 420s.

And let's face it, there are a lot of "420s," those days where things can slip off track for your child, when she'll have to make a tough call: prom night, sleepovers, keggers, sex, drugs, and so on. You want to have talked about it beforehand. You'll want your voice to echo in her head when she makes her call. It may not always be the right call. Making mistakes is a part of adolescence, a really important part. But she won't be heading into situations naïve, ill-informed, or misinformed. Because you will have talked to her, openly and without judgment.

Effectively, she won't be alone. How great is that?

The 420s are actually an excellent opportunity for connection with your teenager, as long as you're willing, as a parent, to take a leap of faith.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.853820 2011-05-08T14:15:00-04:00 2011-11-17T09:02:45-05:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
I worked with the mom of two teenagers last night. She came in alone, with nothing in particular on her mind, no pressing issue, no crisis to resolve. She wanted to talk about the way in which she parents her kids, a gut check to ensure she was making good calls, parenting in balance. Her son starts homework too late, for instance. While dad's impulse here is to set up a consequence, this mom wants to add a discussion. She seeks to better understand why he waits. Is he lazy? She doesn't think so. Is he afraid of failure, or maybe success? Probably. But she wants to talk to him about it. In fact, I find that moms want to talk to their teenagers a lot. They want to understand their world, so they ask a lot of questions, do a lot of listening. This mom is a listener, and her children have, sometimes reluctantly, become talkers.

And man, do they talk.

They talk about music and relationships. They talk about diet and exercise. And then there's that harsh side of communicating, the side many parents would just as soon ignore. They talk about drinking, drugs and smoking. They talk about sex. So many variables to take into consideration, and this mom takes it all in, calmly, thoughtfully, usually smiling. Pretty bad-ass.

So, she checked in for an hour, and had to hurry out. She had to pick up her son at basketball practice, and she wanted to catch the tail end. She didn't want to miss it.

Now, this session was no anomaly. As I check out my schedule for the past week, I've spent no fewer than seven hours with moms, all with the same basic agenda: how am I doing with this parenting thing?

See, mothers consider their parenting. Moms think about parenting, a lot. They make adjustments in their approach. They read parenting books. They talk to, and confide in, each other. They attend lectures. They take notes.

Moms take this stuff seriously.

And it's tough being the mom these days. There are countless roles a mom needs to play, and they shift, often unpredicatably, sometimes within the course of a day. One mom of a client of mine described a recent, fairly ordinary weekday. In that one day, she served as cook, chauffeur, tutor, makeshift counselor and, for a distraught daughter, temporary BFF. Then, she said, she would go to work.

Such is the life of a mom today.

It's complicated stuff. Moms work out of the house more than ever these days, but research shows, all too clearly, that they also do the lion's share of raising kids and housework. I wrote my dissertation on this topic almost 15 years ago, and it hasn't changed much at all. Come on, guys! We have got to step it up here, or I'll be stuck writing a half-assed Father's Day blog in a few weeks!

Let's face it. When things get tough, when something happens in life, when something goes awry, most teenagers I know still want mom. A break-up, they want mom. A bad test, they want mom. A good test, they want mom. Problem with a friend, mom. Bad day on the court, or the field, in the pool. Mom, mom, mom.

Even if they're in conflict with her, they want mom.

Mom remains the ultimate comfort, the consolation, the shoulder. But there's so much more to the mothering thing. Moms have to be strong -- really strong -- as well.

Moms make those countless real-time calls: can she go to Lynn's house, or this awesome party, or hang out with Adam, or go in late tomorrow because she didn't finish the paper? Mom is also the one who typically decides whether their child is okay, whether some help or intervention is required.

To add a little something to the plate, moms remain the bedrock, the very foundation, of the family. For many families I know, there are no family dinners without mom, no traditions to look forward to, no surprise outings, no birthday cake. Behind the scenes, moms keep the train on the rails.

So yes, the job of mom requires some real soft, emotional intelligence skills. But underlying that, moms have this foundation of steel.

So, here's to you bad-ass moms out there. Thought we may not say it until the next Mother's Day, we really appreciate all that you do.

In an initial session, I worked with a 14-year-old boy and his mother recently. We talked through the issues that brought them to my couch and, in the course of the interview, I asked about their relationship.

"Oh, I love my mom. She's awesome. She does everything for me."

Mom brushed away a tear, and moved on. After all, there's bad-ass work to be done.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.849932 2011-04-19T09:28:00-04:00 2011-11-17T09:02:45-05:00

John Duffy, Psy.D. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/john-duffy-psyd/
I know for a fact that we parent teens today with more fear, ego and judgment than calm, confidence and openness. There are countless theories as to why.

Maybe it's a lack of familiarity with their lightning-paced world of Facebook, texting and YouTube. Maybe we're worried about what other parents will think of our kids, or of us. Maybe the iron fist held more sway a generation back. Maybe we're working too hard to keep up with the Joneses.

Maybe the Tiger Mom is getting to us.

Regardless, the fact stands; once our children cross into the teen years, many of us become jittery, angry, withholding, terribly confused parents. So what's going on here?

Well, ask parents of teens, and many will tell you that it's some inevitable, hormone-driven change in their kids:

• "He's totally tuned out his mother and me. He won't give us the time of day."



• "I can't believe she's willing to wear that out of the house.



• "Teenagers are nuts. You just have to wait out the crazy for a few years."

Several years ago, one father put it to me very succinctly: "John, he used to be this open, loving kid, and now he seems completely unavailable to me."

Of course, teenagers have their own retorts on the issue:

• "Oh, really, who's working until 9 every night?"



• "Who's checking their Blackberry every five minutes?"



• "Who won't look me in the eye until 'Dancing with the Stars' is rolling credits?"



• "Who lectures me all day about my C without any kudos for the As and Bs?"



• "Who's no fun anymore?"

Over the past several years, I've learned that, by and large, teens and their parents are both correct. They have become unavailable to one another. It's also important to note, however, that we parents often strike first. Fear, judgment and ego make us less available, and believe me, today's teenagers are onto us. They know we are trying to keep them in a box, protected from the perils of the outside world. They know that we judge them for what they wear, the games they play, the grades they receive.

Parents don't always believe me. But teenagers are smart and perceptive. They know, and they respond in kind. They shut down. They stop communicating. They withhold thoughts, feelings and affection. And this cycle of fear and disconnectedness continues on and on for years.

Sometimes for a lifetime.

In my practice, I focus on the word "availability" in parenting. Available parents protect time to actually enjoy and celebrate (yes, celebrate) their children. They are fully present for some moments with their children every day. They offer advice but try to provide their teenagers a wide enough berth to screw up and figure it all out for themselves most of the time. They don't bother lecturing their teens, favoring open discussions instead. They are never cruel or dismissive.

The payoff for the available parent is enormous. There is more satisfaction, fun and expressed love in the relationships with your children, for sure. But your teens are also more open to you, as well. They value your opinion. They consider your feelings. They may not always make the best decisions, of course. They are teenagers, and they are naturally experimenting with a lot. But they'll consider the values that you've engendered when they make decisions, and that's no small deal.

When I talk to parents about availability, they tend to nod in recognition. Parents know availability. Absent the fear and ego, it comes naturally to us. Inherently, we want to be available. Most of us were, in fact, when our children were younger.

But by adolescence, many parents feel that the damage is already done, the connection is severed, and it's too late to fix the relationships. The good news is that it is never too late. We can reverse this process, this cycle of fear, and it's not drudgery to do so. We spend time laughing with our kids, we watch their shows, we listen to their music, we read their books. We talk to them and, more importantly, we listen to them. And they, in turn, will listen to us. I've seen parents and teens build the relationship back up.

Availability in parenting is big, and it's really important, but not solely for the reasons you might think. I do truly believe that the available parent fosters a stronger, more competent and resilient teenager, to be sure. A teen is far more likely to heed the words of her parents if her parents are willing to heed hers, for instance. A teen is absolutely more likely to consult a parent who is open and non-judgmental when he gets in a tight spot.

But the largest risk for unavailable parents is something we don't often think about. Sure, if we remain closed, angry and judgmental, we are doomed to years of conflict and a wild lack of efficacy in our parenting, regardless of technique. And yes, your son may not care about whether or not you like his new girlfriend. And your daughter may slip by you without seeking comfort after that party that got out of control. Significant risks.

But my biggest fear for the unavailable parent of teens, the ultimate ripoff, the most frightening parent trap, would be to miss it. See, I'm fortunate enough to know a lot of teenagers. They're smart. They're caring. They're thoughtful, cool and very, very, funny. They're courageous, too. And just under the veneer of aloofness or bravado or angst, they're emotionally available, and just waiting. And it just kills me when parents don't take the cue and never get to see all the amazing qualities I am privileged to see in their children. What a ripoff.

After all the time and love spent in your relationship with your child, are you really willing to miss it, any of it, now?

Open your heart and mind to your teenager. Be her strongest advocate, her most trusted advisor, her ally. When an issue arises, if you are open, non-judgmental and curious, you'll find a shortcut to solving the problem. If you're closed, angry and judgmental, you barely have a chance.

Availability works. And it is, without doubt the better story. For both of you.]]>