By: Dr. Aminah Knight

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck right in the middle. I have adult children who are 24 and 22, two teenagers who are 16 and 13, and then two younger children who are 10 and 7. At any given moment, I am parenting someone in an entirely different stage of life. Which means I am constantly code-switching.

Growing up in Brooklyn, code-switching meant something completely different. It was the way you might talk with your friends in the neighborhood or at school and then switch it up when you got home around your family. Then, as you got older, you learned another version of it. You went into a job interview, sat up a little straighter, articulated every syllable, and pulled out a few of those SAT words you had been studying because, listen, you were trying to get that job.

But motherhood has given code-switching an entirely new meaning. Now I’m switching between parenting styles.

With my youngest children, there are still plenty of clear instructions. Go take a shower.

My seven-year-old and I regularly engage in what can only be described as a nighttime tug-of-war. “Can I have five more minutes?” “Can I do it after I play?” “Can I—” No.

Eventually, after entertaining a reasonable amount of negotiation, I have to remind him: You will do as I said. Go take a shower. Because he is still at an age where he doesn’t completely understand what is best for him.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have autonomy. He has plenty. I don’t particularly care which pajamas he chooses. I don’t care which toys he plays with. I don’t even care very much which order he completes his nighttime routine. Take your shower first. Brush your teeth first. Say your prayers first. Read your book first. Whatever works for you, little man. But before you go to bed, the things that need to be done are going to be done.

Parenting Teenagers Requires a Different Approach

Then I switch over to parenting teenagers, and that requires a completely different approach.

At this stage, I’m trying to give them more space to become self-guided. Sometimes that means allowing real-life consequences to do some of the teaching that I used to do myself. For example, somebody might miss a shower. I’m not going to stay on their back about it the way I would with a seven-year-old.

Eventually, you learn something very important about life: If you don’t shower, you might stink. And if you stink, someone might tell you that you stink. And you probably will not enjoy that experience. As funny—and stinky—as that lesson may be, some things teenagers need to discover for themselves.

Then there are my adult children. And this is where the code-switching gets complicated.

When Your Child Becomes Your Friend

My oldest daughter is 24 and lives out of state, so most of our relationship happens over the phone now. I see her when I travel back to New York, my old hometown, but our regular connection is through phone calls.

And these days, a lot of those conversations are simply updates. She tells me what’s happening in her life. This happened. That happened. She’s thinking about this. She’s working through that. And I listen. Without judgment.

That sounds simple. It was not always simple.

There was a time when she would tell me something and I would immediately have loads of opinions. Loads of advice. Loads of recommendations. Loads of ways I thought she could improve the situation. And slowly, our daily conversations became weekly conversations. Then every other week. Then sometimes once a month.

There was a period when we honestly felt a little estranged from each other. She was trying desperately to establish one thing: I am not a child. If I had received a dollar every time that girl reminded me that she was not a child, I might be a millionaire by now.

And I was equally determined to establish something else: I AM STILL THE PARENT.

She wanted the freedom to make her own decisions. I wanted her to understand that being grown did not suddenly mean I had lost 18 years of wisdom and parenting experience.

Eventually, at 18, she decided she needed to leave and live her own life. She needed the freedom to make her choices, follow her dreams, make her mistakes and figure out who she was outside of what she saw as my authoritarian rule.

Today, our relationship is in a completely different place. And interestingly enough, now she coaches me.

Sometimes Your Children Teach You

My daughter has been on this beautiful journey of self-care, self-love and unpacking her childhood. She meditates. She leads guided meditations for other people. She talks openly about emotions. She doesn’t like holding things inside. She believes in candid conversations and naming what you feel.

To say that I admire that about her would be an understatement. I admire it. I appreciate it. And, probably most importantly, I am learning from it.

Because I did not grow up that way. The emotional philosophy I picked up from the people around me was much closer to: I ain’t got time for that.

And what “I ain’t got time for that” really meant was: I don’t have time for big emotions. I don’t know what to do with big emotions. Big emotions are uncomfortable. There are things that need to get done, so let’s handle what’s in front of us and keep moving.

Dinner needs to be cooked. Homework needs to be finished. Kids need to get where they’re going. Bills need to get paid. Life is happening. We do not have time to stop everything because somebody wants to discuss the tone I used three hours ago.

So if my daughter came to me and said, “Mom, I didn’t like the way you said that to me,” my response might have been something like, “Girl, I’m cooking dinner. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Stop being so sensitive.”

That was really my attitude. And she couldn’t deal with it. Today, I understand why.

Reflection Without Living in Regret

I could look back at those years and drown myself in regret. But I don’t think regret is particularly useful when you have allowed an experience to teach you something.

Reflection? Absolutely. Accountability? Absolutely. Making amends when you’ve hurt someone? Absolutely.

If I hurt one of my children, of course that hurts me. And where I can make something right, I want to make it right. But I also understand who I was during that period of my life.

I was raising six children. I was building a career. I was managing a household. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I completed a doctorate degree.

There was a version of me who survived by putting her head down and getting things done. Maybe I didn’t always stop long enough for every big emotion. Maybe there were moments when one of my children needed more emotional space than I knew how to give. I can recognize that now.

But instead of hating the woman I was, I can appreciate that she carried a tremendous load—and allow the woman I am today to keep growing.

Because parenting doesn’t stop requiring growth just because your children grow up.

Which brings me to my 22-year-old son.

Apparently, I’m Still Learning This Lesson

The other day, I was having a conversation with my son and I told him, very seriously, that one of my biggest issues with him was that he doesn’t follow my directions.

I am literally chuckling as I write that sentence. Because… did I learn anything from raising my daughter or not?

But hear me out.

I explained to him that now that he is an adult and no longer lives in my house, I really don’t give him that much advice. I told him, “I probably give you two major pieces of advice a year. So when I give you those two pieces of advice, I feel like you should take heed.”

This sounded perfectly reasonable in my head.

The first piece of advice? Go to college.

And this has become our latest tug-of-war. Except he is not seven. And I cannot stand at the bottom of the stairs and say: You will do as I said. Go to college. Believe me. Sometimes I want to.

He comes from a family where education has always been deeply valued. He has watched people around him pursue degrees, build careers and use education as a pathway to opportunity. So from my perspective, the direction seems obvious.

But apparently, adult children have this strange idea that when they become adults, they should get to decide what they do with their own lives. Imagine that.

And once again, I find myself learning how to code-switch.

The Big College Debate

One of the biggest debates between my 22-year-old son and me has been college.

I’ve tried to explain to him that, for me, college did more than give me degrees. It opened my mind and showed me possibilities.

Now, let me be clear: I am not saying college is the only way to open a person’s mind. It isn’t. There are people who have never stepped foot inside a university who are brilliant, accomplished, well-traveled and deeply curious about the world.

But I can only teach from what I know. And maybe that is part of my own closed-mindedness. We all have some. I haven’t experienced every possible path. I don’t know everything. I haven’t been exposed to everything.

What I have done is go to college. I have completed my terminal degree. I have traveled around the world. And somewhere along the way, education helped give me this belief that there are very few limits on where I can go or what I can become if I’m willing to put in the work.

There is also something else I believe college gave me: proof to myself that I can commit to something difficult and finish it.

Finishing high school is a major accomplishment, but for many of us, our parents are heavily involved in getting us there. They wake us up. They make sure we go to school. They check the grades. They meet with teachers. They push us when we want to quit.

But pursuing education as an adult is different.

Whether it is a certificate program, an associate’s degree or a bachelor’s degree, there is something powerful about deciding for yourself: I want this. I’m going to learn this. I can finish this.

That is what I want for my son.

And as I’m writing this, I can hear myself. Aminah… that still sounds a little like you are trying to make that man do something.

And, truthfully? I am. At least a little bit.

Parents Get to Have Dreams Too

From the moment I first felt each of my babies moving inside me, I had dreams for them.

I think parents are allowed to dream.

Sometimes I feel like we are told that once our children become adults, we are supposed to suddenly stop imagining things for them. Stop hoping for certain things. Stop wanting certain things.

I’m not there.

I have been dreaming for my children their entire lives.

That doesn’t mean I decided one of them would become a doctor at age three and now I’m standing over them saying, “Doctor or disappointment.” That’s not what I mean.

My dreams are broader than that. I want them to go into the world and do something meaningful. I want them to contribute. I want them to find work that they enjoy. And yes, I want them to make good money.

Growing up, my father used to tell my sisters and me that when we chose a career—not a hobby, not just a passion, but a career—we should consider three things. Choose something you love. Choose something that can provide you with a good living. And choose something that allows you to contribute to society.

That advice stayed with me.

Because doing something meaningful for other people gives you a kind of fulfillment that money alone cannot give. There is something about knowing: I added something. I helped somebody. My presence made some small part of this world better.

That is what I want for my children.

Excuse me.

My sons and daughters.

I’m working on that.

Then My Mother Gave Me Some Advice

One day, after listening to me complain about my frustration with my 22-year-old son, my mother stopped me.

My oldest daughter and I had already gone through our difficult season. We were on the other side of that particular hill. My son and I, apparently, were standing at the bottom of the same one. I just hadn’t realized it yet.

And my mother said something to me that completely shifted the way I was thinking.

She said: “The first thing I need you to do is stop calling them your children.”

I probably looked at her like she had lost her mind. Because obviously they are my children. I gave birth to them.

But that wasn’t her point.

She told me to stop saying things like my child or this kid when I was talking about my adult son and daughter.

“Call him your son,” she told me. “Call her your daughter.”

Because the language I was using was reinforcing something in my own mind.

Child.

Child means somebody I’m responsible for. Somebody I direct. Somebody I protect from danger. Somebody whose choices I can sometimes override because I know better.

But son? Daughter?

Those words allow something else to exist.

Relationship. Connection. Love. History. But also adulthood.

My mother was basically telling me: They have grown up. Your mind and your heart have to catch up.

And that has stayed with me.

Letting My Heart Catch Up

I wish I could tell you that understanding this made everything easier. It didn’t.

There is actually a certain amount of detachment that I think I have to practice with my adult son and daughter simply so I can sleep at night.

And when I say detachment, I don’t mean disconnection. I don’t mean loving them less. I mean accepting that I cannot know everything anymore.

They do not live under my roof. I don’t know where they are every second of the day. I don’t know every decision they make. I don’t know every person they spend time with.

And if I allowed my mind to follow every possible thought about what could happen to them, what choices they might make, what opportunities they might miss, or what mistakes they might be making… I would drive myself crazy.

So maybe part of parenting adults is learning to love deeply without monitoring constantly. To advise without commanding. To listen without immediately correcting. To hope without controlling. To dream for them while remembering that they are allowed to dream differently for themselves.

And I am still learning how to do that.

I actually don’t have a neat conclusion for this article. I am still in the middle of it.

I am still catching myself saying “my child.” I am still learning when to give advice and when to keep my mouth closed. I am still figuring out how to watch someone I carried inside my body make decisions that I might not make for them.

And I am still learning how to trust that all of those years of parenting—the lessons, the prayers, the conversations, the mistakes, the love—are already inside them somewhere.

Maybe this stage of motherhood isn’t about letting go of my son and daughter. Maybe it is about letting go of the version of motherhood that required me to be in charge.

That might be the hardest code-switch of all.

My son. My daughter. Not children anymore.

I’m letting my mind and my heart catch up.