No one ever tells you that one day, the biggest challenge in parenting won’t be homework battles or curfews – it will be breathing through your nose.
There’s a very specific moment, somewhere around Year 8, when a child’s bedroom transforms. One day, it’s a normal room. The next it’s a foggy microclimate of its own, heavy with an aroma that says: I have been sweating, living, snacking, and possibly dying in here.
I used to think the “teenage smell” was an exaggeration. Then I opened my kid’s door and my nostrils packed my bags, and walked out.
A smell with layers
There are layers to it. First comes the base note of damp sports uniforms shoved into the corner “to deal with later.” Add a middle note of socks that haven’t seen daylight since the Taylor Swift Eras tour started. Then there’s the top note – a sharp, mysterious tang that you know is coming from a mug of something that started life as Milo.
On the other end of the spectrum is the scent we’ll call Eau de Trying Too Hard: litres of body spray, hair products, and skincare sprayed with such determination that even the dog sneezes.
And if you think it’s bad at home? Try being in a car with them after training. Driving home from sports days with your head hanging out the window like a Labrador is a real thing.
Teachers have seen things
I asked my friends who teach high school what an average summer afternoon is like in their classroom.
One said: “By the end of the day, it’s like a mix between a gym bag, a sandwich shop, and a Lynx factory explosion. I stand near the window and hope I make it out alive.”
Another told me that whenever someone opens their backpack, there’s a moment of fear.
Underneath the pong
“You never know what’s coming out – yesterday’s lunch? A forgotten art project made out of milk cartons? There’s always a squished banana.”
It would be easy to make this an “ugh, teenagers” story. But here’s the truth: the smell is the least important thing happening in that room.
Here’s the thing: it’s not their fault. Their bodies are working overtime. Hormones, growth spurts, sport, school – it’s a perfect storm. And like the breakouts and the grunts, the smell is just another stage.
Because behind that closed door is a person in the middle of the most awkward, exciting, infuriating, incredible transformation of their life.
The truth is, if you can get past the whiff, there’s a lot to love about teens.
The other part no one warns you about
What really knocks the air out of your lungs is not the smell. It’s the sudden realisation that they don’t need you as much anymore.
The bedtime cuddles vanish. Long conversations are replaced by mumbles. They disappear into their room for hours, and when they emerge, you feel like you need a translator just to find out what’s going on in their head.
And just when you think you’ve been completely shut out, they give you a moment.
It might be a dumb joke that makes you both laugh so hard you cry. Or a hug out of nowhere. Or a story about their day that makes you stop and think, “Wow, you’re turning into someone amazing.”
That’s the payoff.
A phase that stinks (literally)
Parenting a teenager is standing in the middle of that smell, windows open, heart wide, hoping you’re doing enough.
It’s hard. It’s funny. It’s wonderful. And it’s fleeting.
One day the smell will fade. They’ll move out, take their gym bag and their body spray, and the house will smell like fresh air again.
And, ridiculous as it sounds, we’ll probably walk past that empty room and wish we could breathe it all in just one more time.
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