Behind Closed Doors

This wasn’t the first time my 14-year-old daughter Jordan and I fought about closed doors and, similarly disrespect. In fact, we’d done it so much that my “the door is coming down” speech had grown stale and expected—practically inaudible to astute teen ears. Each time she tried to close the door mid-lecture, my anger swelled. Night after night, she ignored my husband, Bill, and my calls for dinner, requests to put the dishes away or feed the dog. It was as if she were no longer a part of our family. Where did we go wrong?

As Bill and I took turns yelling, I noticed for the first time how Jordan looked at me—a stare of disbelief that said: you don’t get me and I don’t get you. I didn’t understand. The three of us had always shared such a wonderful and unique family dynamic. Jordan was our only child and we were—not to be cliché—the quintessential three musketeers. So why did Jordan hate us now?

Continue reading article at New York Family Magazine.

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