I remember it like it was yesterday. 

“How ’bout I do it when I get ready!” Were her exact words. 

“How ’bout I grab you by the neck and throw you down the stairs!” Were mine.

Much as I hate to admit it, threatening to take down my 12-year-old was the norm back then. I knew it wasn’t the most rational way to shut her down, and I realized it put me at risk of catching a case, but for the life of me, I could not control the sheer wrath that came over me whenever Little Miss Know It All opened her big mouth. All I did was remind Olivia to tidy her room and fold her laundry when she once again got loud and disrespectful with me. To think she’s the same kid who still slept with her night light on—and now she was trying to come for me?

I would drive into work after another one of our early morning shouting matches, drained and defeated—wondering where things went wrong. I couldn’t help but think we had spoiled her. Olivia was our first-born child, conceived after years of believing that marriage and motherhood just weren’t in the cards for me. Back then, I was so busy moving up in my career and pursuing graduate work that the dating scene almost always took a back seat. Before I knew it, my most fertile years were behind me, and any hope of finding the man of my dreams looked as dismal as my dwindling egg supply.

And then, like an answer to prayer, he called me. My college sweetheart and first true love finally came to his senses, and with the same charm and tenderness that first won me over, swept me off my feet. Almost overnight we married and started the family we’d always dreamed of. Goodness knows we didn’t have a minute to waste; he was pushing 40 and I was 38 when Olivia was conceived on the heels of a painful miscarriage. The day she arrived, the world stood still and nothing else mattered.

Sure, we were older and more mature, but like most first-time parents we made plenty of mistakes along the way. Looking back, I wondered if throwing all those over-the-top birthday parties, replete with Disney characters and pony rides was a good idea after all. When we were kids, it was all good just playing hide and go seek or freeze tag. And instead of being “timed out,” maybe Olivia should’ve gotten some good, old-fashioned butt-whoopings. I only had three as a kid, but they were life-changing. Or, could it be that our overbearing, albeit well-intentioned helicopter parenting had backfired and she was starting to rebel?

After months of torturing myself, I finally had a breakthrough. Ironically, it happened that morning while the two of us stood at the top of the stairs—poised for battle. Olivia was standing with her hands on her hips, chest poked out, and talking back as usual. I had planted myself directly in front of her, contemplating whether I should use a drop-kick maneuver or just go straight for her neck. At that moment, it all made perfect sense. Olivia and I could not possibly be this out of control unless there was something else at work, and clearly, there was.

There’s no denying I had become a total nightmare to live with. The slightest offense would tick me off and send me into a fit of rage. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get a handle on my emotions—one minute I was a raving lunatic, and the next, I’d be sobbing like a baby. And thanks to my unexplained anxiety and chronic lack of sleep, I felt justified being miserable and took pleasure in picking fights. It got so bad that whenever I walked into a room, I’d hear someone say: “Shhh, here she comes,” as they hurried past me and flew out the door.

And then there was Olivia. Besides always talking back and rolling her eyes, she began to alternate between three distinct personas: the helpless victim, the obnoxious pre-teen, and a terrorist. Adding fuel to her already volatile mix of emotions was a shiny new set of braces, a constellation of pimples, and really bad BO. I could not say a single word to that girl without her twisting her neck and sassing me like a grown-ass woman. It was then, as I threatened to toss her grown-ass down a flight of stairs, that she proved my suspicions with three simple words: “I dare you!”

When Perimenopause & Puberty Collide

No, Olivia did not have a death wish. Instead, as fate would have it, the two of us were experiencing one of the most tumultuous periods of our lives. I was in the throes of perimenopause and she was going through puberty—and the two of us were acting out like it was nobody’s business. I felt foolish I hadn’t figured it out sooner, but according to Mia Lundin, author of Female Brain Gone Insane, perimenopausal women are often “bewildered and mystified by what appears to be a sudden and unexpected onset of symptoms,” especially since many may still be having relatively normal cycles.  

In much the same way, the fact that Olivia had not yet started her menstrual cycle made me attribute her acting out to everything but the very real physical and emotional changes she was experiencing before it actually arrived. The “period” before her “period” started was not unlike the “period” before mine ended. And whether she was prepared for it or not, her budding breasts, pubic hairs, and roller coaster emotions took center stage while she was still hosting tea parties with her American dolls.

The Developing Adolescent Brain 

I also learned that the legendary “raging hormones” responsible for triggering puberty were not entirely to blame for Olivia’s behavior. A growing body of research now points to the still-developing adolescent brain as the primary culprit. In her New York Times bestseller, The Teenage Brain: A Neuroscientist’s Survival Guide to Raising Adolescents and Young Adults, Dr. Frances Jensen says that “to truly understand why teenagers are moody, impulsive, and bored; why they act out, talk back and don’t pay attention” requires an understanding of how “sex hormones are particularly active in the limbic system, which is the emotional center of the brain.” According to Dr. Jensen, the developing adolescent brain hasn’t quite figured out how to modulate this new influx of chemicals which explains why teens can be so emotionally volatile.

Needless to say, I never did carry out my threat that morning. Instead, I felt compelled to pull Olivia to me and hug her like it was our last day on earth. The way she collapsed into my arms and bawled like a baby reminded me of our glory days, before hormones screwed up our brains. Neither of us fully understood what was going on that morning, but as I wiped away her tears and kissed every inch of her face like I used to do when she was a little girl, we both knew we still needed each other; maybe now more than ever.

While this epic moment did not bring an end to conflict, it at least taught me how to manage it better. Not only did I lean on the advice of experts and the help of friends, but I also learned to trust my own instincts. Those drama-filled years weren’t always easy, but they were as humbling as they were instructive, and I couldn’t be any more grateful for the lessons learned along the way. Here are just a few:

Sometimes It’s Better To Be Kind Than To Be Right

Inasmuch as it pained me that my interactions with Olivia had become so combative, I always felt I had no other recourse but to stand my ground. As far as I was concerned, I was the parent, she was the child, and I could not allow her to get away with being so blatantly disrespectful. Well, always being right only drove a greater distance between us. More than anything else, Olivia needed to feel valued and validated during a time in her life when she felt the most vulnerable and insecure. So, rather than always being right, I recognized that sometimes it was best to give her a pass and shower her with love and kindness, like that morning at the top of the stairs.  

After all, there were plenty of mornings when weighing myself on the bathroom scale would ruin my day. No doubt Olivia’s self-confidence took a similar hit whenever she awoke to a new crop of zits across her face or that relentless mustache which was the source of her brother’s endless teasing. And there’s no question she felt awkward in her developing body, with all of its physical changes happening well before she was emotionally prepared to handle them. It now made sense why she emerged from the bathroom in a less than amicable mood most mornings and came home from school equally perturbed.

Seeing my once lovable daughter behaving more like a mean girl towards me wasn’t easy, but in her highly acclaimed book, Untangled: Guiding Girls Through the Seven Transitions Into Adulthood, Dr. Lisa Damour explains that “teenagers often manage their feelings by dumping the uncomfortable ones on their parents.” Considering the range of emotions Olivia had to manage as she navigated through middle school each day, I was grateful she steered clear of lashing out at her teachers and peers but held it together until she could safely unload on me at home. Once I understood this as a survival tactic typical of most adolescent girls, I took Olivia’s bad attitude less personally and learned to harness rather than combat her displaced emotions.

Know When To Draw The Line 

It’s important to note, however, that providing Olivia a safe space to vent and allowing myself to be her occasional punching bag did not mean she could get away with bloody murder. In fact, my own experience as an educator taught me that almost all children know when they’re pushing the limits, and even the most contentious find comfort when parameters are set for them. What becomes the challenge for most parents then is knowing when to stick to their guns or when to give a pass in the interest of meeting a greater need. 

For instance, my biggest issue with Olivia was her insistence on always talking back to me. In my mind, it was downright rude and disrespectful. But according to Carl Pickhardt, a noted psychologist and parenting expert, adolescent argumentativeness is not necessarily a sign of disrespect and actually has some redeeming qualities. In Who Stole My Child: Parenting Through the Four Stages of Adolescence, Pickhardt makes the brilliant point that if arguing taught Olivia how to find her voice in a world that is often dismissive, especially of girls, or if it helped build her self-confidence as she dared to stand up for herself, or if it allowed me, as the parent, to gain insight into what mattered in her life, then arguing served a greater purpose, and she deserved to get a pass.

Looking at Olivia’s behavior through this lens took the sting out of our battles and made the my-way-or-the-highway approach a less viable option. So, as a rule of thumb, I resolved that if Olivia’s argumentativeness allowed her to feel heard, helped manage her emotions, and spared the world of her wrath, I would suffer it for the greater good. If, on the other hand, her back talk crossed the line and became caustic or outright defiant, I’d shut it all the way down—plain and simple.

Don’t Be Too Hard on Yourself 

Lastly, I learned not to be too hard on myself. I often say, one of the best things that comes with aging is how quickly you come to terms with your limitations. During the early, turbulent years of Olivia’s transition through puberty, I constantly ran into brick walls trying to get a handle on her emotions. Reading self-help books, doing online research, and swapping war stories with friends were all very helpful, but at the end of the day, I didn’t always have the wherewithal to manage her issues along with mine. And I came to realize that was perfectly okay! 

When you think about it, Olivia and I were on opposite ends of the same spectrum, which meant I felt as unnerved by the changes going on in my body as she did in hers. While she experienced a surge of hormones, mine were on a rapid decline; while her body braced for its monthly cycle, mine became less regular; and while she welcomed perky new boobs and an hourglass figure, I bid mine farewell. 

Perimenopause was wreaking as much havoc in my life as puberty was in hers, and just like she needed love and kindness and the occasional pass, goodness knows, so did I. In the end, I had to remind myself that being a mother didn’t mean I would always have the right answers, or use the best judgment, or exercise the greatest patience. Being a mom simply meant I had all the love in the world to see my Olivia through. And wouldn’t you know, of all the tricks in my book, love always worked like a charm.

ILLUSTRATIONS: JOANA MIRANDA