I am a mother to three adolescents: a son who is almost 19, a 17-year-old son, and a 14-year-old daughter. My home knows adolescence well in all its forms—the need for separateness and autonomy, the testing of boundaries, the doors that close, the noise, and also the moments when they return and draw near.
I first wrote this article about seven years ago, when my eldest son was 12. At that time our relationship went through a crisis. He did not want me to come close to him, he pulled away from my touch, and at a certain point I also distanced myself from him. The physical distance was only part of a larger distance that formed between us.
Within the process of restoring our relationship we began practicing hugging. Not a hurried hug on the way out of the house, but a few moments in which we stopped and stayed together within the touch. Over time the hug took on a place of its own in our connection, and my son gave it a name: “power hug.”
Today that child is almost 19. Seven years have passed since then, and I look at that practice differently. I see the things I have learned since then as a mother to three adolescents and as a therapist: about touch and about boundaries, about adolescents’ need to separate from us without losing us, about a parent’s ability to offer closeness without demanding it, and about the possibility of staying in connection even in periods when our child needs more distance from us.
I also know today that the hug itself was not magic and was not the only thing that restored our relationship. It was part of a broader process. Within that process it became a private language of closeness, one that sometimes allowed us to say without words: “I am here with you.”
This article is a new version of what I wrote then. I keep in it the hug practice that was so meaningful for us, and I add to it what I understand today about connection with adolescents, separateness, consent, and touch.
One of the changes parents can encounter in adolescence is a change in children’s attitude toward touch. The daughter who once climbed on you on the couch can suddenly move your hand away. The son who once ran to you for a hug can recoil when you try to kiss him near his friends. When I look today at my three adolescents, I also see how much each of them has a different way of asking for closeness and space.
These differences matter. There is no one way an adolescent is supposed to be close to their parents, and there is no correct number of hugs that indicates the quality of connection. One child can ask for a lot of touch, another very little, and the same child can move through different periods between a great need for closeness and a desire for space.
Adolescence includes significant movement toward separateness. Our adolescents develop their own identity, opinions, relationships, privacy, and boundaries. Their relationship with their body also changes. The body that for years was a very natural part of parental care becomes more and more private territory that they want to decide about.
Pulling away from touch is not necessarily pulling away from connection. An adolescent can love us, need us, and want to know we are there for them, and at the same time ask for more privacy and physical space.
From a differentiation perspective, a meaningful question arises for me as a parent: “Can I remain a close mother even when my child is asking me for more distance right now?” Sometimes our need for closeness meets exactly their need for separateness. The ability to offer connection and leave the choice to the adolescent allows both these movements to exist together.
Touch can be a deep way to express affection, comfort, and closeness. For it to be that, it needs to be wanted. This principle is especially meaningful in adolescence, when the relationship with the body, privacy, and separateness are changing.
If I offer a hug and my adolescent says “no,” moves their body, or signals in another way that the touch is not right for them, I stop. Respect for their boundary is part of the connection I want to build with them. The message that passes is simple and important: your body belongs to you, and you are allowed to choose when touch is right for you even with people you love and who love you.
You can ask “Want a hug?” or open your arms and wait for a response. If the answer is “not now,” you can accept it. My ability to hear their “no” allows them to know that their “yes” also truly belongs to them.
There is also a practice here for us as parents. Sometimes the child’s “no” meets in me longing, hurt, or fear that the connection is pulling away. Differentiation allows me to feel what arises in me without making the child responsible for calming me. I can want a hug and still respect the fact that right now they do not want it.
In our home the power hug was born from my relationship with my eldest son. This is the name he gave to a certain kind of hug that formed between us and gradually became a familiar moment in which we could stop, draw near, and be together without needing to talk immediately about what happened.
The idea is similar to the hugging meditation developed by Buddhist teacher Thích Nhất Hạnh: to turn the hug from an almost automatic gesture into a moment of presence. Instead of hugging and at the same time thinking what needs to be said, asked, or solved, attention is directed to the encounter itself.
There is no need to turn the hug into a therapeutic event or to announce to the adolescent that we are now practicing meditation. For me, the principle is much simpler: when they choose to draw near, I try to be with them in that moment without rushing to make it into something more.
The practice begins even before the touch. You can offer the adolescent a hug and let them choose. If they agree, try for a few moments to let go of conversation. This is not the time to find out what happened at school, to ask why they are angry, to remind them about homework, or to solve the problem that has them upset. For a few moments you can simply be together.
During the hug direct your attention to your breathing. Feel the soles of your feet on the floor, the contact between the two bodies, and your hands resting on the child’s back. Also notice what arises in you. Tenderness can appear, and sadness, longing, tension, or a wish for the hug to continue can also arise.
There is no need to hide these feelings or to rush to calm down. Try to feel them and stay with them to the extent that is right for you. The goal is to create enough inner space to be with the child without turning the hug into a hidden request that they calm us, come closer to us, or prove to us that our relationship is okay.
You can hold within you a few simple sentences. These are not sentences the adolescent needs to hear, but a way to orient yourself within the encounter:
On the in-breath: “I am here with you.”
On the out-breath: “I can be here without solving.”
On the in-breath: “You are my child.”
On the out-breath: “I allow you to be yourself.”
There is no need to count breaths or measure how long the hug lasts. A short hug can be just as meaningful as a long one. Also let the adolescent set the pace. When they release their arms, move their body, or say “that’s enough,” the hug ends.
In my view, the ending is also part of the practice. I am learning to be in closeness without holding onto it by force. My child is learning that they can draw near to me and leave the closeness at a time that is right for them.
A hug with mom or dad can feel natural to one adolescent and very awkward to another. Laughter, embarrassment, or pulling away give us information about what is right for our child in this moment.
If they laugh during the hug and stay in it of their own will, you can laugh together. If their body pulls away, you can release. If they say “Mom, stop,” you stop. The goal is not to complete a successful exercise. We are seeking to build a relationship in which both closeness and boundary have a place.
Sometimes the most meaningful practice happens precisely when the adolescent does not want to hug. Then I can meet my disappointment and choose to say: “Okay. I’m here if you want.” My ability to bear the distance without turning it into a struggle allows me to remain available for connection.
It is important for me to say this precisely because the power hug was so meaningful in my relationship with my son: the hug did not save our relationship. The connection between us did not change because I found the right technique.
The process of restoring the relationship required me to look at myself as well: at the way I responded to him, at my expectations of him, at the places where his behavior activated me, and at my ability to remain his mother even when the encounter between us was complex. Within that process the hug became one of the languages of the connection that was rebuilt between us.
You can hug a child a lot and remain distant from them. You can also go through a period when an adolescent hardly wants any touch and still have a deep, respectful, and close connection with them. Touch is not the measure of the quality of relationship. The more interesting question is what happens between us within it and outside it.
This is also why I look differently today at the phrase “power hug.” The power is not only in the hug itself. It is in the relationship that allows the child to ask for closeness when they need it, to end it when they have had enough, and to know that the connection remains even after the arms separate.
Parenting adolescents takes place between the parent we are today and the child who is before us, and it also meets the story from which we came. We bring with us the way we were hugged or not hugged, the place the body and privacy had at home, the way they responded to us when we pulled away, and the freedom we had to decide who touches us and when.
Sometimes an adolescent pulling away from me meets within me a girl who knew well the feeling of rejection. My desire to be close to my children can also be connected to an old inner promise: “In my home it will be different.”
The story I came from can help me understand why a certain moment with my child touches me with such intensity. My responsibility is also to see the adolescent who is before me now and to check what they need from me, instead of asking them to solve for me something that was born in other relationships.
I can ask myself: “When it is hard for me that my adolescent is pulling away, what from this pain belongs to our connection today and what does it meet in me from the relationships in which I grew up?” This distinction can create more space for choice for me and more freedom for them.
There is something very beautiful about a hug: two bodies draw near and still remain two bodies. In my view, there is something in this that recalls the kind of connection we seek to build also in relationships—closeness in which there is room for two separate people.
You can lean and remain connected to yourself. You can draw near and keep your boundaries. You can also pull away and know that your place with the other person is preserved.
This is true in couple relationships, and it is also true in the connection between parents and children. An adolescent gradually needs more space to discover who they are, and at the same time they can continue to feel that they have a stable place in connection with their parents.
There is a sentence I can hold within me facing these two movements: “I remain your mother when you are close to me. I remain your mother also when you close the door.”
Mindful hugging is about the encounter with the child. The second part of the practice takes place within us. If you feel that your adolescent has pulled away, try to begin with looking at yourself before you search for a way to make them draw near.
What do I feel when my child does not want right now the closeness I am offering? Try to identify whether longing, worry, hurt, anger, loneliness, or fear that you are losing them arise. There is no need to rush to act from the feeling. Begin by giving it a name.
Where do I feel this in my body? Notice what happens when you think about the distance between you: pressure in the chest, tightening in the belly, tension in the jaw, or an urge to talk, to draw near, and to solve. Try to stay a few moments with the sensation at a pace that is right for you. The goal is not to make the feeling disappear, but to create enough inner space to feel it and choose how to act.
What am I asking my child to give me in this moment? It is possible that I am offering a hug because I feel they need it. It is possible that I also need reassurance, confirmation that our connection is okay, or knowledge that they still want my closeness. Both needs can exist together. The ability to identify my need allows me to take responsibility for it.
Can I offer closeness and leave them real choice? You can ask “Do you want a hug?” If the answer is yes, you can be together in the hug. If the answer is no, you can respond simply: “Okay. I’m here.”
Sometimes this sentence holds a great deal of connection.
If touch is pleasant and right for your adolescent, you can give the hug a place in daily life without turning it into a task. You can offer it when you come home, before bed, after a hard day, or in a moment when you feel that words only add noise.
In my view there is no correct number of hugs per day and no need to commit to a certain practice period. For a few weeks you can simply notice the opportunities in which closeness becomes possible. Offer a hug and leave the child choice. During the hug itself try to truly be in it. Afterward release and return to life.
It is also worth noticing what changes in you. Is it easier for you to be close without immediately asking questions? Are you managing to accept “no” without turning it into rejection? Does the adolescent sometimes begin to initiate touch themselves? Is a new way forming between you to signal “I need you” even without a long conversation?
This practice is not meant to turn every adolescent into a child who asks for hugs. It offers us to take interest in the way we offer closeness: is there presence in it, is there choice in it, and are we able to stay in connection even when our child chooses differently right now.
When I wrote the original article, my son was 12 and we were in the middle of the process. Today he is almost 19. I can look back and see that the power hug did not remain for me a memory of “a method that worked.” It reminds me of something broader I learned about parenting adolescents.
Not all closeness needs words.
Not all pulling away indicates loss of connection.
An adolescent can need us very much and want more space from us in that very same period.
Our ability as parents is to learn to recognize the language in which the child before us is asking for connection now, even when it is different from the language in which they asked for it when they were small.
With my eldest son, one of those languages was the power hug. There were days when he came to me loaded and said: “Mom, I need a power hug.” Other times I asked: “Do you need a power hug?” If he wanted, we hugged. I did not rush to find out what happened and did not use that moment to extract words from him. Sometimes after a while he would turn his head toward me and say: “Thanks, that’s enough.” Then I released.
Over the years there were also couch hugs in front of the TV, good-morning hugs, and sometimes a hug from the side with one arm that it seems to me said: “You know what, Mom, you’re actually okay.”
Today I am a mother to three adolescents, and I know that each of them teaches me something different about closeness. Each has a different pace, different boundaries, and a different way of telling me they want me beside them. My role is not to make all three ask me for connection in the same way. I want to be a mother who is able to recognize the way each of them draws near, and to respect also the way they separate.
One of the meaningful things I have learned in these years is that closeness is not measured only by how much my children want to be close to me. It is also built from my ability to allow them to move between closeness and separateness and to know that they have a place with me in both movements.
Sometimes the hug is the beginning of a conversation. Sometimes it is all that is needed in that moment. Sometimes there is no hug at all.
The power hug taught me much more than how to hug my child. It taught me to offer closeness and leave it in both our hands.
I am here. You are my child. The connection between us can hold both closeness and distance.
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