The Complexities of Raising Teenage Daughters: Love, Pain, and the Unspoken Struggles
Hey Sis, Raising a teenage daughter feels like navigating a battlefield where the enemy isn’t always clear. Some days, it’s her moods clashing with mine. Other days, it’s the heaviness of unspoken words, lingering resentment, or the suffocating silence between us. And then there are days when the war isn’t between us at all—it’s the world, the trauma, the past, and the secrets that threaten to consume us both.
Let me tell you, it’s not easy being her mom. But I bet it’s not easy being her either.

The Moods, the Myths, and the Moments We Don’t Talk About
Teenage daughters are like walking storms—beautiful, fierce, and unpredictable. One minute we’re laughing over something silly, and the next, she’s rolling her eyes or slamming her door. I know it’s the hormones, the struggles of being a young Black girl in this world, and the weight of figuring out who she is. But that doesn’t make it easier.
Let’s not forget the myths we’ve been fed about teenage girls and their mothers. They say it’s supposed to be natural for us to clash, that she’ll grow out of it, that one day she’ll see I only wanted the best for her. But what about now? What about the nights when I cry myself to sleep because I feel like I’m failing her? Or the moments when I wonder if she sees me as the bad guy, the way the world often does?

Everything Changed
Everything changed the day I went through her phone. I wasn’t looking to find what I found, but what I saw shattered something inside me. Learning that her dad—the man I trusted, the man she trusted—tried to manipulate, groom, and betray her in the most unimaginable way was a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
But it wasn’t just him. The real gut punch came when I realized how many people around us chose to help him lie, conceal the truth, and gaslight us both. They didn’t just betray me; they betrayed her. They kept her in harm’s way, prioritizing his image over her safety and my sanity.
How do I explain to her that the adults who should’ve protected her chose not to? How do I make her understand that the anger she feels toward me isn’t fair, even though I get why it’s there? I wasn’t wrong, Sis. But sometimes, being right doesn’t feel like a win.
The Unspoken Conversations
We don’t talk about it—what happened, how it made us feel, how it changed us. She’s uncomfortable, and honestly, so am I. Therapy isn’t an option right now; the waiting lists are endless, and no one seems to know what to say.
I see the way she looks at me sometimes, and I wonder if she resents me for pushing, for not letting it go, for fighting so hard to uncover the truth. Does she see me as strong, or does she think I’m bitter? Is she proud that I trusted my instincts, or does she wish I hadn’t found out? I don’t know. And the not knowing is its own kind of pain.

The Weight We Carry
Sis, let’s not sugarcoat this—it’s hard being me right now. But I know it’s hard being her too. Imagine being a young Black girl and realizing the man you’re supposed to trust most had plans to harm you. Imagine knowing the people who were supposed to protect you chose not to.
And then imagine being the mother who has to carry that knowledge, who has to fight not just for justice but for your daughter’s sense of safety, trust, and worth. I’m supposed to smile, to show up in the world as if nothing’s wrong, but everything is wrong.
This is why I’m so angry. Angry at the police for dismissing me, for treating me like I was the villain when I came to them for help. Angry at the system that prioritizes predators over victims. Angry at the people who betrayed us both. And most of all, angry at the idea that this could happen to someone else if I don’t speak up.
Fighting for Our Girls
Black women are amazing. We’ve been through hell and back, and yet we rise. But we can’t just keep surviving—we have to teach our daughters to thrive. We have to show them that they are worth fighting for, that their voices matter, and that their pain is valid.
I want my daughter to know she’s not alone, that her worth isn’t defined by what happened to her, and that I will always fight for her, even when she doesn’t understand why.
But more than that, I want to create a world where no other girl has to go through this. A world where Black women and girls are believed, protected, and respected.

Writing Exercise: Reclaiming Power
Sis, take a moment to reflect on the struggles you’ve faced with your daughter or even with your own mother. Write a letter—not to her, but to yourself. Acknowledge the pain, the frustration, and the strength it’s taken to keep going. Then write three affirmations reminding yourself of the amazing mother you are.
My Message to You
Raising teenage daughters isn’t for the faint of heart, especially when the world seems determined to break them before they even have a chance to bloom. But Sis, you are stronger than you know, and so is she.
Together, you’ll get through this. Together, you’ll heal. And together, you’ll prove that Black women and girls are not just survivors—we are warriors.
Support the Victim Retribution Network
Sis, this journey hasn’t just taught me resilience—it’s given me a mission. That’s why I created the Victim Retribution Network, a space to advocate for women and girls who have been dismissed, silenced, and betrayed.
If my story resonates with you, if you’ve ever felt the weight of fighting alone, I invite you to join me in creating change. Your support—whether through a donation or by sharing our mission—can help ensure no woman or girl feels unseen again.
Let’s build this together. Let’s fight for our girls. Let’s rewrite the narrative.
With love and light,
E💜
