14/02/2026
When we were invited to watch the rehearsals of Spring Awakening, I was excited to bring my 15-year-old daughter, Caia.
She had training that night though, and if I waited for her, we’d be cutting it too close.
So I went ahead without her.
On the way to the rehearsals, I felt that sayang feeling—that tinge of regret you feel when you know something could’ve been meaningful.
She could’ve met my theater friends.
Could’ve experienced professional rehearsals.
Could’ve seen a part of my world.
A part of who I was before having her.
(I wanted to be a theatre actress once upon a time!)
Anyhoo, I tried to shrug it off and told myself to focus. We were there for work anyway.
As Unprude being the advocacy partner, part of our job was to observe the show closely and check how it might land emotionally, especially if it could be triggering. I also had our Associate S*xologists with me, so I had to make sure they were okay too.
Halfway through the rehearsal, things shifted. I felt a tightness in my chest. I remember thinking, Thank God I didn’t bring her. How would she respond to this?
The themes were heavy—desire, confusion, authority, silence, pain, death. And knowing that she was already in a vulnerable place emotionally at that time, I worried it would be too much.
I kept thinking, This show isn’t for her.
Even if she’s open about s*x, the rest of it feels too heavy.
I kept asking myself,
Is she ready? Can she handle this?
And then I caught myself.
I realized the discomfort I was feeling wasn’t hers.
It was mine.
The themes felt too familiar.
They reminded me of my own childhood.
Of how so many of our stories revolved around shame and punishment. Of friends I grew up with who felt eerily similar to the characters in the play.
I, was the one being triggered.
It was too familiar.
And that’s when it hit me even harder.
The play is set in the 1800s. It is now 2026.
And yet, the stories are still the same. Because shame, silence, and fear-based authority are still deeply woven into how many of us were raised.
And as a mother of a 15-year-old, I don’t want her to experience the same pain, the same confusion, the same fate.
And I thought—she will never be fully ready.
No teenager ever is.
They will hear this, see this, and eventually face the harsh realities of life. The only question is whether they face them alone.
So the one who needs to be ready is me.
Ready to sit through discomfort.
Ready to answer hard questions without panicking.
Ready not to project my fear, turn it into silence, and disguise it as protection.
Parents often mistake their own unease or discomfort as something a child cannot handle. But I believe that’s just cowardice. That’s just a convenient way to avoid responsibility and wait until our children are “adult enough” to decide for themselves.
“They’re adults now, it’s on them.”
That’s BS.
If you don’t prepare them to be responsible, knowledgeable adults, that’s on you.
At 15, I know Caia has already been through a lot. And most of that is on me. I do trust her strength. I trust her capacity. But still, I am scared—sometimes very scared.
But if I let my fear lead, she would be left to make sense of these realities on her own. And then I wouldn’t have done my job as a mother.
So no - I am not protecting my child by keeping her away from hard truths or by avoiding my own.
I am protecting her by doing the work myself, and by holding her hand as we watch, listen, and sit with the discomforts of life together.
So if you can, watch it with your child. Sit with the discomfort together. You might discover a new kind of relationship - with yourself and with them - when you do.
Kudos to all the cast and crew.
