Texts from My Teenagers, Translated by a Midlife Therapist

(Because “K.” doesn’t just mean “okay.” It means war.)

Parenting teenagers is wild.

It’s like living with two human mood swings who eat all your food, use all your Wi-Fi, and respond to full paragraphs of your love and concern with:

“idk”

“lol”

“whtvr”

or worse… “K”

But since I’ve been through therapy (and blessedly made it to midlife), I’ve learned not to take these texts personally. Nope. Now I just analyze them, like a licensed clinician wearing pajama pants and glasses.

So here it is:

Actual texts from my teenagers, translated by my inner midlife therapist.

Text: “can u pick me up?”

Translation: I have zero awareness that you have a job, a schedule, any other obligations. You are my personal Uber. Also, I need you here in 3.5 minutes or I will perish from social embarrassment.

Text: “wyd”

Translation: I’m bored and I’m about to ask for something, but I’m softening you up first. Brace for impact. There will be snacks, rides, money, or emotional labor required. Possibly all four.

Text: “K”

Translation (Level 1): Mild irritation. I didn’t like your last message but I’m too tired for a full fight.

Translation (Level 2): I am offended on a cellular level. Expect passive aggression in person. Possibly followed by eye rolls, door slams, and cold silence over dinner.

Text: “can I out?”

Translation: I’ve already made the plans. I’m not asking, I’m just giving you the illusion of control. Say no and become the villain in my squad group chat.

Text: “thrs nothg to eat”

Translation: We are out of the three things I eat on repeat. There are 47 edible items in this house, but none of them require zero effort and fit my exact craving. Fix it NOW.

Text: “NVM”

Translation: You obviously don’t get it. And I’m uncomfortable being seen so I must now retreat into my cave of endless scrolling, Snapchats, and existential dread.

Text: [no response for 6 hours]

Translation: I’m alive. I’ve seen your 17 texts. I’ve chosen not to reply because I am currently overstimulated, under-hydrated, and emotionally bankrupt. Also: TikTok.

In an effort to balance the hormonal irregularities that plague our home, I’ve created a new Mom Auto-Responder™ - because I’ve already texted you back in my head seventeen times.

Text: "Ugh you’re so cringe."

Mom Auto-Responder™: "Okay 😐"

(Translation: I birthed you, fed you, kept you alive through multiple near-death toddler incidents. But please, tell me more about how I ruined your life by asking if you had a jacket.)

Text: "I forgot my charger/homework/hoodie."

Mom Auto-Responder™: "OMW 👍"

(Translation: Of course I’ll drop everything to save you from your own chaos. Again. But one day you’ll feel this guilt in your bones and I will be avenged.)

Text: "Can you not post that pic of me?"

Mom Auto-Responder™: "Oops! Already did 😬"

(Translation: You looked cute and I created you, therefore your face belongs to me. Now sit down and be quiet.)

Text: "Home"

Mom Auto-Responder™: "Thanks for lmk 😊"

(Translation: I’ve been tracking your location like I work for the CIA and rehearsing my 911 call for an hour, but sure, let’s act like I was totally chill about it.)

Text: "Can I have $20"

Mom Auto-Responder™: "Sent 👍"

(Translation: I have no idea what this is for and you won’t tell me, but here, take my money, my soul, and what’s left of my retirement plan.)

Text: "TY"

Mom Auto-Responder™: "🥹❤️"

(Translation: I’ve now forgiven you for everything you’ve ever done and would gladly give you both kidneys if needed. Even though you screamed at me for existing 3 hours ago.)

The Mom Auto-Responder™ is always on. Even when you’re tired. Even when you pretend not to care. Even when your teen ghosts you for hours and then suddenly reappears when there’s pizza or money involved.

It runs on love, guilt, sarcasm, and three cups of coffee. And while there’s no “off” button, at least it comes with snacks.

Teen texts aren’t meant to be efficient - they’re tests.

• Of patience.

• Of boundaries.

• Of your ability to communicate love using only memes, “bet,” and shared silence.

Your job is to stay grounded, stay hydrated, and remind yourself:

They love you. Deep down. Underneath the snark and hormonal hostility, they really do.

And if not… well, that’s what Find My iPhone is for.

Teenagers are tiny emotional landmines wearing hoodies and carrying phones they refuse to answer. But with a little therapy, a lot of wine, and some deep midlife breathing, you too can survive their texts, and maybe even laugh along the way.