Parenting In The Middle Of The Ache

When you don’t agree with your teen, or your spouse, and your heart is stuck between love and letting go.

Some days, I feel like I’m parenting from the sidelines of my own child’s life.

He walks through the room, and I see him — but only glimpses.
Not the wide-eyed kid who used to beg me to stay a few more minutes.
Not the little boy who climbed into my lap like it was home.
This version of him walks taller. Louder. Sharper. With walls I didn’t build.

And the ache of watching him pull away while making choices I don’t agree with?
It’s deep. It’s quiet. It’s constant.
Like something pressing on my chest from the inside.

And then there’s the marriage side of it.
Trying to stay united as parents when we don’t agree on how to handle any of it.

He wants to handle it one way. I feel differently.
Sometimes we meet in the middle.
Sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes it feels like we’re parenting two different kids in two different houses, even though we’re in the same room.

I know in my soul — deep, deep down — that God has my son.
That grace is bigger than this season.
That sometimes we have to let our kids touch the stove.
That some lessons can only be learned in the fire.

But that knowing doesn’t always soothe the mama ache.
It doesn’t tell me when to speak and when to be quiet.
It doesn’t magically align my heart with my husband’s in the heat of a disagreement.

It doesn’t always help me sleep when I’m wondering where my son is — emotionally or physically — or if today was one of those days he’ll remember as a turning point… or as another inch away from us.

So how do we do it?

How do we parent with unity when our hearts are in different places?

How do we hold the line while also holding space?

How do we let go without feeling like we’re giving up?

Maybe the answer isn’t one-size-fits-all.
Maybe it’s this:

We pause before reacting.
We pray not just for our child, but for each other.
We name the ache instead of pretending we’re fine.
We apologize when we speak from fear instead of wisdom.
We listen, even when we’re angry.
We come back to each other, again and again, even when we don’t agree.

Because this isn’t about who’s right.
It’s about staying rooted — in love, in faith, in the commitment to raise this human as a team, even when the game plan is fuzzy.

To the parent on the outside looking in — I see you.
To the wife trying to stay tender in the tension — I see you.
To the one who prays in the dark while waiting for their child to come home — I amyou.

We may not get it perfect.
But we can get it honest.
We can lead with love — even if it looks like crying behind closed doors and showing up again the next day.

We can keep choosing connection. With our teen. With our spouse. With ourselves.

And that, friend, is holy ground.

With love in the ache,
J

Have you ever felt like you and your partner were parenting from different sides of the field? What helps you find unity again?