I was one of those daughters who saw my mother as my enemy when

Hear the voice of Deborah Tannen, who spoke with honesty and humility: “I was one of those daughters who saw my mother as my enemy when I was a teen.” Though her words are personal, they carry the weight of a universal struggle—one as old as families themselves. It is the conflict between generations, between the heart that seeks to guide and the spirit that seeks to break free. In her confession, we hear not only a story of opposition but a reminder of the pain and beauty in the bonds between mothers and daughters.

The teen years are a storm. They are the years when the child begins to push against the boundaries of authority, yearning to carve an identity separate from the parent. In this storm, even love can feel like control, and even guidance can feel like judgment. To the daughter, the mother may appear as an enemy, not because she hates her, but because she longs to stand as her own. Tannen’s words reveal this paradox: that the very intensity of the bond can turn affection into friction.

The mother, for her part, carries a different burden. She sees the dangers her daughter cannot see, remembers mistakes her daughter has not yet made, and seeks to protect with words that may feel like chains. Yet love often disguises itself as restraint, and wisdom often wears the mask of opposition. Thus, a battlefield arises where there should be a sanctuary, until time softens the lines and both learn that the enemy was never real—it was love in disguise.

History gives us many mirrors of this struggle. Consider the tale of Antigone and her defiance against Creon, though it was not a mother-daughter story, it reflects the same eternal clash: the authority of the elder against the fierce will of the younger. Or remember the story of Queen Elizabeth I, who as a young woman resisted the plans and counsel of her guardians, often treating them as foes, though their aim was to secure her throne. In youth, rebellion often feels like survival, even when it is born from the care of others.

Tannen’s admission holds great wisdom because it is both confession and reflection. She does not hide the pain of seeing her mother as an enemy, but by naming it, she transforms it. For to speak of conflict honestly is the first step to reconciliation. Her words remind us that what seems like enmity in youth can become deep understanding in maturity, when both mother and daughter see the truth that lay hidden beneath the battle: love, imperfect but enduring.

The lesson for us is profound: when you are young, beware of mistaking love for opposition. And when you are older, remember your own youthful resistance before you judge the rebellion of the next generation. In practical terms: children, listen to your parents not as rulers, but as those who have walked the path before; parents, guide your children not as masters, but as companions whose spirits must grow free. What feels like battle today may one day be remembered as the crucible in which trust and understanding were forged.

So let Deborah Tannen’s words be carried forward: the enemy we see in those who love us is often an illusion of youth. Time will reveal that behind the clashes lies a bond unbroken, a love that endures through conflict, and a wisdom that grows when we dare to see past the storm. Therefore, let us be patient in conflict, humble in guidance, and forgiving in love—for what once seemed like enmity may one day become the deepest of understanding.