If your teen is suddenly “just hanging out” with someone they met at school, or if you’ve heard the words “we’re talking” and felt your stomach drop, you’re not overreacting.
You’re parenting in the age of TikTok relationships, Snapchat streaks, and a whole lot of unsupervised emotional chaos. Welcome. You’re not alone, and you’re not crazy for wanting your kid to have more than a prayer and a playlist before diving into the emotional jungle that is teenage dating.
This isn’t about scaring them off relationships. It’s about equipping them with the stuff most adults wish they had known before swiping right on heartbreak.
1. Attraction Isn’t the Same as Respect
My daughter had her first crush when she was 13. His name was Ethan. He was funny, a little bit goofy, and kind of popular—but not in the try-hard way. He wore hoodies even when it was hot and always smelled like that Axe spray every boy seemed to bathe in.
They were in the same science class, and he started sitting next to her “because you’re actually smart,” he said, smiling. Her cheeks burned, in a good way.
A few weeks later, he asked for her number. She gave it to him. They started texting. Harmless stuff—memes, TikToks, silly “would you rather” questions. He called her “cool,” and once told her she had a cute laugh. It felt like floating.
But then, little things started to feel…off.
When she sent him a photo of her dog, he didn’t say “cute” or even “what’s their name?” He said, “Your room looks messy.”
When she helped a classmate who forgot their pencil, he said, “Why do you care? She’s weird anyway.”
He teased her for turning in homework early, saying, “Try-hard.”
One day, he texted her during dinner. I asked her to put the phone away. She texted, “Hey, I’ll talk later—dinner time.”
He replied: “Wow. Lame. You always listen to your mum?”
She stared at the message. Her stomach flipped—but not the good kind.
That night, she told me everything. Not in a dramatic way. Just…needed to say it out loud. I listened. Then asked one question:
“Do you like how he treats you, or just how he makes you feel when he likes you?”
My daughter didn’t answer right away. But she knew the difference now.
Attraction might make your heart flutter—but respect makes you feel safe, seen, and supported. Someone who likes you won’t make you feel small. Someone who respects you never will.
If they mock your kindness, your family, or the things you care about, it’s not a crush—it’s a red flag.
2. Boundaries Are Sexy
My daughter used to say “sorry” like it was her name.
When she was younger, I thought it was sweet—polite, even. The kind of girl who offered the last slice of pizza, who apologized when someone else bumped into her. The kind who made adults say, “She’s such a good girl.”
But at 14, that same instinct to please started to wear on her.
She got invited to a sleepover with girls she barely knew—one of them had made fun of her once in PE. She didn’t want to go. I could tell. But she said yes anyway, because “I don’t want them to think I’m being rude.”
When she came home, she was quiet. Not upset. Just… small. Like she’d shrunk herself all night to keep the peace.
Then came the group project. She ended up doing 90% of the work while her teammates scrolled TikTok and joked about it in the chat. “I didn’t want to sound bossy,” she told me when I asked why she didn’t speak up.
But the final straw came when a boy in her class kept teasing her. Not the playful kind. The kind that makes your stomach twist. When I asked if she told him to stop, she said, “I just laughed. I didn’t want to be mean.”
That’s when it hit me:
She wasn’t being kind.
She was being afraid.
Afraid of being disliked. Afraid of taking up space. Afraid of saying no and having someone not smile back.
So we started something small.
Every day, we practiced saying no.
“No, thanks.”
“No, I don’t want to do that.”
“No, I changed my mind.”
Sometimes she laughed. Sometimes she rolled her eyes. But little by little, she said them louder. Straighter. Stronger.
I reminded her:
You are allowed to change your mind.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation.
Your comfort matters more than their reaction
3. Their Worth Isn’t Measured in Likes, Texts, or Snap Replies
It was a Saturday. My daughter was supposed to be getting ready to meet her friends at the movies. Instead, she was in her room, door half-shut, taking photo after photo. I walked past and heard the rapid clicks—shutter, delete, shutter, delete.
When I asked if everything was okay, she sighed and said,
“I just want to look good. He hasn’t replied to my last Snap yet.”
She was snapping a boy. Of course.
Nothing serious—just “talking.”
But still, that one little square on her screen had the power to turn her whole mood upside down.
That night, when she finally got a reply, she lit up.
You would’ve thought she’d won a prize.
The next morning? Nothing. No reply.
And just like that, she spiraled. Questioned her outfit. Her hair. Her face.
“Maybe I’m just not pretty enough.”
I hated how easily she slipped into that place.
But I got it.
Because I’d done it too. Not with Snaps—but refreshing a post to see if people “liked” what I wrote.
We’ve all felt that hit of validation. That weird buzz of being seen, wanted, liked.
But for her, still figuring out who she is, those likes and snaps felt like truth.
So we had a talk—not about phones or screen time.
About worth.
I told her:
Your value isn’t up for debate.
Not by boys, not by filters, not by replies.
We started doing small things offline that made her feel good in her own skin.
Boxing class.
Volunteering at the dog shelter.
Cooking dinner together, just us, music on loud.
I reminded her often:
Your confidence shouldn’t live on someone else’s screen.
Build it where it can’t be deleted, ignored, or left on read.
4. Consent Is Ongoing and Non-Negotiable
My daughter once let a boy hug her even though she didn’t want to.
She didn’t say anything at the time.
She didn’t scream or push him away.
She just… stood there.
Later that night, she told me about it. Not because it was some “serious” incident, but because it didn’t feel serious—and that’s exactly what scared me.
She said,
“He wasn’t being creepy. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
That line hit me like a truck.
Because I’ve said it. Maybe you have too.
We teach our kids to be polite, to smile, to not “make it weird.”
But if we’re not careful, we raise kids who think their comfort is less important than someone else’s ego.
So we had a talk.
Not just about bodies, but boundaries.
We talked about how a nervous laugh is not a yes.
How you don’t have to go along with something just because you did the first time.
How “I changed my mind” is a full sentence.
And how online consent matters too.
No one is entitled to your photos. Or your passwords. Or a reply to a Snap just because you opened it.
I told her:
Consent doesn’t start when things “get serious.”
Consent is everywhere. It’s in the hug. The joke. The DM. The “just playing.”
And it’s always—always—ongoing.
Here’s a good resource to help you teach your teen about consent
5. Real Love Doesn’t Hide You
When I was 17, I thought being someone’s secret meant I was special.
He never introduced me to his friends.
Never posted me.
Never said my name out loud when others were around.
But in private? He made me feel like I was it.
He said things like,
“I don’t want people all up in our business.”
Or “This is just between us—too many people ruin a good thing.”
And I believed him.
I thought being “lowkey” meant I was important enough to protect.
But really? I was being hidden.
Not because he loved our little bubble.
But because he didn’t want to claim me in public.
And I didn’t know how to name that feeling yet—the gut twist when someone touches you in the hallway but doesn’t even look your way when their mates show up.
I didn’t know how to say:
“This doesn’t feel good.”
So I smiled. Played it cool. Told my friends, “He’s just private.”
It took me years to learn:
Private means you’re cherished.
Secret means you’re disposable.
Now that I’m a mum, I think about this more than ever.
Because one day, my daughter might tell me she likes someone.
And if she says, “He doesn’t want anyone to know about us, but it’s because I’m special,”
I’m going to pause everything and ask:
“Do you feel hidden—or held?”
And we’ll talk about it.
About red flags wrapped in flattery.
About the difference between protecting something—and hiding it out of shame.
Because I want her to know:
If someone’s proud of you, they don’t hide you.
If they respect you, they want the world to know you’re theirs.
And love, real love, never asks you to shrink in the shadows.
6. Jealousy Isn’t Romance
When my daughter was 15 she had her first unofficial boyfriend, she came home one day smiling and told me:
“Ryan got annoyed because some guy liked my Instagram pic. He said, ‘I don’t like other guys looking at my princess’”
She said it like it was a compliment. Like it meant she was wanted.
I didn’t say anything right away. But my heart sank a little.
Because I remember thinking that kind of jealousy meant someone cared, too.
That little flicker of drama felt like passion.
Like proof.
But a few weeks later, the “sweet” comments turned sharp.
He started asking who she was texting.
He told her she shouldn’t wear certain outfits.
He made her feel bad for laughing too much at another boy’s joke.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he’d say, “but it just makes me uncomfortable.”
And suddenly, she was second-guessing her every move.
That’s when I sat her down and told her the truth:
Jealousy isn’t romance. It’s a red flag dressed like attention.
Real love doesn’t monitor your likes or your outfit.
It doesn’t guilt you into being smaller or quieter or “less friendly.”
It doesn’t make your world shrink.
We talked about green flags instead:
– Does he trust you?
– Does he cheer you on?
– Does he respect your space, your friends, your boundaries?
That’s what matters.
She broke it off a few days later. It hurt. But not as much as staying would have.
7. Your First Love Shouldn’t Be Your Last Sense of Self
After the breakup, my daughter didn’t cry right away. She disappeared.
Not literally. She still came to dinner. Still went to school. Still replied with “fine” when I asked how she was.
But the light dimmed.
She stopped playing her guitar—something she used to do every afternoon without anyone asking.
She skipped a beach trip with her friends because “it wouldn’t be the same without him.”
She deleted photos of them together—but didn’t put up anything new. Not of herself. Not of her life.
It was like she’d been someone’s girlfriend for so long, she forgot how to just be her.
So I didn’t push. I didn’t give her the cliché lines about “plenty of fish” or “you’ll get over it.”
Instead, I did three things:
- I reminded her of what she loved before him.
- I invited her to do those things again—with me, with friends, with herself.
- I helped her fill her weekends with color again—open mic nights, boba runs, late-night crafting on the kitchen floor.
And most importantly, I told her this:
Your first love should never be your last sense of self.
Love is beautiful. It’s big and messy and magical.
But it should never cost you you.
A good relationship adds to your life—it doesn’t replace it.
You are allowed to be someone outside of who you date.
To laugh without permission.
To have dreams that don’t revolve around someone else’s plans.
To keep pieces of yourself untouched, even when you’re in love.
She didn’t bounce back overnight. But little by little, she came back to herself.
And this time, when she laughed, it didn’t sound like she was trying to prove she was okay.
It just sounded like her again.
8. Breakups Are Not Failures
Some relationships end. Most teen ones do. That doesn’t mean they messed up.
Support their grieving process. Don’t rush them to move on. Give them space to talk about what went wrong and what they’d do differently next time.
[Source: Psychology Today – Why Breakups Hurt So Much: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-new-grief/202001/why-breakups-hurt-so-much]
9. You Can Talk to Me (Even If It’s Messy)
One night, my daughter sat on the edge of my bed, quiet. That “do you have a minute?” kind of quiet.
I was folding laundry. Nothing serious.
But I knew by her face, this wasn’t about a lost charger or a bad grade.
She finally said, “Promise you won’t be mad?”
And I paused—not to collect myself, but to remind her of something I’d told her before.
“I might be surprised. I might even get protective. But mad? No. I’ll always listen first.”
She told me about a party.
About someone offering her a drink.
About feeling pressure to say yes even when her gut said no.
About not knowing how to say no without sounding boring or uptight.
She wasn’t asking for a lecture. She already knew what the “right” choice was.
What she needed—was me. Not the version of me that has it all figured out.
The version that remembers what it feels like to be 15 and unsure and wanting so badly to fit in.
So I told her the truth.
That I’d once said yes just to keep someone else happy.
That I’d stayed too long in a situation because I was scared to be the one who made it “awkward.”
That I wish someone had told me then what I know now.
That you can be kind and still say no.
You can be fun without going along.
You can make mistakes and still be deeply, fully loved.
She didn’t say much after that. Just rested her head on my shoulder and whispered, “Thanks for not being mad.”
I told her: “Thanks for trusting me.”
10. You Deserve the Real Thing
One night, my daughter asked me what I thought about a boy she liked.
“He’s cool,” she said. “We talk a lot. But mostly on Snap. He doesn’t really like to hang out in person. And he said he’s not into labels.”
I raised an eyebrow. She laughed before I could say anything.
“I know, I know… It’s probably nothing. But he’s nice sometimes. And I don’t want to overthink it.”
Here’s the thing: she wasn’t asking for advice. Not directly.
She just wanted to be seen.
To know if what she was feeling made sense.
So instead of telling her what I didn’t like about him, I flipped it.
I asked:
“What does a good relationship look like—to you?”
She paused.
Then shrugged and said, “I don’t know… someone who’s not embarrassed to be seen with me?”
So we started naming examples together.
Not big fairytale ones—real ones.
We talked about her friend’s older sister and her boyfriend—the way he waits for her after class and actually listens when she talks.
We talked about Uncle Jay and Auntie Mel—how they still laugh like teenagers even after ten years.
We even pulled examples from books she loves, characters in shows she watches.
She lit up talking about the ones where the guy respects the girl’s mind and not just her body.
We didn’t make a list of red flags.
We made a list of green lights.
Respect.
Consistency.
Kindness.
The ability to be your full, weird, wonderful self without being told to tone it down.
I told her:
You don’t have to settle for being someone’s “almost.”
You deserve someone who shows up during the day—not just at 3 a.m.
Someone who’s clear—not confusing. Proud—not private.
And when you know what real love looks like,
those “situationships” stop feeling exciting.
They just feel small.
Final Thoughts
Your teen doesn’t need lectures. They need language. Frameworks. Permission to hold high standards even if everyone else is playing limbo with theirs.
Help them spot red flags before they’re waving them from inside the car. Make these conversations less awkward and more normal.
And remember: you’re not being overprotective. You’re raising someone who knows how to love and be loved without losing themselves in the process.
