Truth be told, last week’s article wasn’t supposed to be last week’s column. It was borne from a little mishap while running on the trail at Mill Creek Park.

My focus wandered for a second – thinking about what I was going to write later – and the next thing I knew, my foot hit a root and down I went.

Don’t worry, I’m fine. Just a few bruises, a scraped knee and a humbling reminder to pay attention.

I finished the run, this time with my mind fully grounded. But that little tumble was what led to last week’s piece – a reminder to myself of why I do what I do.

But this week, let’s go back to what I was actually thinking about before the fall.

Let me first start by saying that I was a pretty good kid growing up. A nerd, really. Something that hasn’t changed much.

It’s just more acceptable now that I’m an adult. But as a parent, I see more clearly where I may have driven my own mother a little wild. It’s funny how that happens, right? All the things we did as kids come back around in one way or another.

Parenting is a strange dance of trying to raise independent, confident kids without going gray too early. And I find myself somewhere in the middle of the “let them figure it out” and “how do I stop this train before it derails?” spectrum.

I was no saint. There was plenty of boundary testing, talking back and general teenage rebellion.

I was sent to my room enough times to make me resist any kind of constraint to this day. But I never dabbled in drugs; my experimentation was with alcohol, friendships, places and a whole lot of choices that tested the limits of my mom’s patience.

One memory stands out, though, and it’s a bit of a doozy.

It was right after my father passed away. I was in college, living at home, and let’s just say, I didn’t handle it well.

My mom was not a fan of how much I traveled, and at that time, I had an itch to escape. So when the opportunity to go to Los Angeles came up, I knew asking for permission would get me a hard “no.”

What did I do? I skipped the asking part, arranged for a shuttle service to pick me up while my mom was at work, hopped on a plane and off I went.

To make matters worse, I told her I was staying at a friend’s house for the weekend.

When I got home, I dropped my bags in my room like nothing had happened. The next day, my brother casually pointed out that I should probably remove the airport tags from my suitcase. Classic sibling move – always covering each other’s butts, just like I had covered for him when he almost got caught talking about a tattoo over the phone while my mom’s scanner picked up the call.

We may fight, but we’ve got each other’s backs when it matters.

Now, with two boys of my own stepping into their teenage years, I see it all so clearly.

The sneaking, the half-truths, the desire to avoid the inevitable conversations. They’re trying to figure out who they are, just like I did. And I find myself in this exhausting game of chess, trying to outmaneuver them, anticipating their next move, and more often than not, feeling like I’m losing.

Or at the very least, getting worn out.

Parenting through this stage is all about balance. Letting them make their choices, learn from them, and grow, while also being the parent and guiding them along the way.

It’s not easy. So yes, Mom, this is the part where I say I’m sorry – and thank you for never giving up on me.

From me to you, I’d love to know: How do you balance it? How do you walk that tightrope between letting them grow and keeping them grounded?

Because at the end of the day, isn’t that the goal? To raise a good human being, one who is independent, confident and ready to offer their gifts to the world.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.