My teenage daughter’s sudden demand for privacy made me uneasy, but nothing could have prepared me for what I discovered under her bed after I broke her trust and started snooping.
I have been raising my daughter, Barbara, alone since she was four years old. Her father abandoned us without hardly looking back and, since then, it has been the two of us against the world.
Over the years, we have built something solid, the kind of mother-daughter relationship full of trust, laughter and the occasional disagreement. However, our arguments were never earth-shattering. Now, at 16, she is finding herself.
Lately, things have changed slightly, and I have become concerned. Barbara had started dating a boy, Brad. I had seen him a few times.
He was polite and well-mannered. The kind of guy who shakes your hand and says, “Yes, ma’am.” Everything should have gone well. But as soon as they became engaged, Barbara became more reserved.
She started locking her door often, and one night she told me she couldn’t clean her room anymore.
“Mom, I’m 16,” she said. I only went into her room to pick up the laundry basket while she was in the bathroom. But she was waiting for me at the door with her arms crossed when I came out. ”I don’t want you to come in whenever you want anymore. It’s not that big a deal. I just need a little privacy.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But I was just picking up your laundry, sweetheart. I wasn’t snooping.”
She sighed and smiled as she walked around me and basically pushed me out of her space. “Yes, and I appreciate it, but I’m not a child anymore. I’ll start doing the laundry myself or taking it to the laundromat. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Oh… er… of course! Sure,” I agreed. She made a little gesture with her hand and closed the door in my face.
This affected me a lot as I walked to the laundry room. I should have been happy that she was finding independence. But I felt like I was losing my little girl. I guess all parents feel that way at one time or another.
I still felt uncomfortable about this sudden change. Why? What was it about? Was it because of her new boyfriend? Was something going on?
I had had an adult conversation with her about relationships and other things when she told me about Brad. I thought I could trust her in that respect. But that feeling persisted.
A few nights later, as I passed her room, I heard her talking on the phone. Her voice was deep, almost trembling.
“Am I doing it right?” she whispered.
Doing what right?
I put my hand on the doorknob, but I knew it would be locked. So I started imagining all kinds of scenarios. Yes, my mind went to the worst things a teenager or anyone could do in secret.
But I walked away and tried to forget about it. The next day, I noticed that she had started locking her room, even when I wasn’t at home. What was she hiding?
A week later, I dropped my daughter off at school and pretended to be going to work. In reality, I had taken the day off. And when I got back home, I couldn’t resist any longer.
I know how this sounds, and I’m not proud of it, but I had to know.
I used the spare key to open the door and went in. Her room looked normal. Too normal, actually.
The bed was made, the desk was tidy and even the laundry was in the basket. I knew she would take it to the laundry in a few days, as she had promised.
Even so, I started to search. I searched the drawers of her desk and her wardrobe, and I even went as far as to look under the dirty clothes.
There was nothing. Not a single thing seemed out of place.
I was about to leave when I remembered that in the movies they hide incriminating things under the bed. So I crouched down, peering into the shadows. That’s when I saw a large bundle wrapped in a plastic bag.
My heart raced as I took it out. It weighed more than I expected. My hands trembled as I unwrapped the bag, half expecting something horrible. But what I found… wasn’t horrible at all.
It was a partially knitted sweater. The stitches were uneven and threads were sticking out everywhere, but right in the center, in big, clumsy letters, were the words:
“The best mother in the world.”
There was also a large ball of wool and some needles in the bag.
I was so surprised that I sat on my bottom and stared. I was so sure that something crazy was going on.
But when the shock had worn off, my eyes began to sting with guilt. All this time I had been imagining the worst of my daughter. My sweet, studious girl who had grown up to be so mature and loving despite having been recklessly abandoned by her father. The person I knew as my best friend in the world.
I had invaded her privacy and broken her trust, all because I didn’t know how to handle a closed door. And here she was, secretly learning to knit a present for me, since my birthday was in a couple of weeks.
I carefully rewrapped the jumper and its materials, making sure it looked the same as before, and put it back under the bed. Then I closed the door behind me and spent the rest of the day shrouded in a fog of shame and self-recrimination.
What kind of mother was I?
For the next two weeks, I acted as normally as possible. I tried not to get overwhelmed, although it was difficult. Every time I saw Barbara, I was consumed by guilt. Did she know I had been in her room? Was she pretending that everything was fine? The weight of it all was almost unbearable.
Finally my birthday arrived. Bárbara got up early and burst into the kitchen with a face beaming with excitement. In her hands was the finished jumper. It was still a bit clumsy, the stitches loose in some places and tight in others, but for me it was perfect.
“Happy birthday, Mom!“ she said, holding it out as if it were the greatest treasure in the world. In fact, it was. ‘I made it for you.”
I stared at her, a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry, laugh and apologize all at the same time. ’You made this?” I managed to say.
She nodded, beaming. “I’ve been learning to knit with Brad’s sister. She’s been teaching me on FaceTime.” She paused and blushed slightly. “To be honest, Mom, that’s why I asked you not to barge into my room and started locking the door. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
It was then that I couldn’t hold back any longer. Tears sprang to my eyes and I pulled her towards me to give her a hug, with the jersey crushed between us. “Barbara, it’s beautiful. It’s the best present I’ve ever been given. But I have to tell you something.”
She pulled away and her smile faded. ”You don’t like it? I know it’s a bit rough, but I’ll improve it and give you a better one for Christmas.”
I shook my head and took a deep breath. “No, honey. It’s not that. I love it. It’s the best gift you could have given me. But I was so worried that you wanted to be locked up that I went into your room weeks ago, when you were at school.”
Her eyes widened. ”What? Why?”
“Because I heard you talking on the phone and you sounded really weird. I thought… I thought maybe something was wrong. But I found the sweater. I’m sorry, Barbara. I shouldn’t have snooped.
She stared at me, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed and smiled shyly. “Mom, I understand. You always worry about me. But you have to trust me, okay? I’m not hiding anything bad. I just wanted to do something special for you.”
“I know,” I said, swallowing hard, and I took the spare key out of my pocket and handed it to her. ‘That’s why I’m giving it to you. I won’t go into your room again without your permission. I promise.”
She hesitated, but she took the key. ’Thank you, Mom. But let’s keep this with the other keys. You know… for emergencies.”
I nodded and hugged her again. That day we went out together and had a great time. Of course, I wore my sweater!
Although I was always worried about her, I knew that Bárbara was becoming a beautiful person. I had to let her fly.
More than that, I had to trust her, because that was the only way to be the kind of mother my daughter could always trust, the person I wanted to be.