What I did when I discovered my 16-year-old daughter was secretly on the Pill

My daughter has had the same pink pencil case since she was in Year 5. Seven years on, it’s rather more tatty than it was, but whenever I see it, I smile and think that there’s a part of Laura* that is still the little girl who used to thread her arm through mine and tell me everything. 

Except, of course, that she’s not little any more. She’s a gorgeous, sociable 16-year-old, turning into a young woman. And the day that really hit me was when I discovered one of the things she now stashes in that pencil case is the contraceptive pill. 

I don’t think she particularly wanted to hide it from me. After all, the way I found out was that, halfway through a conversation one evening in her room, she unzipped it, took out a packet of pills and swallowed one. And that was where, in retrospect, I had an epic parenting fail. I should have asked her what it was. We were alone; I shouldn’t have let my own embarrassment get the better of me. Instead, rather feebly, I asked, ‘Do you have a headache?’ and she shook her head.

Having dropped that ball, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even tell her dad, but mulled it over furiously overnight. Laura’s first boyfriend, Ed*, had appeared a few months before. I knew that she and her peers have been well-educated in all the options – she’s the one who airily pointed out the local family planning clinic when we walked past it and said, ‘They came and did us an assembly, so now we all know where it is.’ (I gulped, and did my best to smile.) After she started seeing Ed, offers to take her there were stonewalled and I’d retreated, uncertain what to do.

So, I had a pretty good idea that the packet was the Pill, but it also struck me that it could have been anything. That worried me a lot more. I decided that, before doing anything, I’d find out what I was dealing with. The next day, while she was out, I looked in the pencil case and found the pills. A quick Google confirmed exactly what they were.

Be proud of her for being so responsible,' I told myself. But at the same time, I felt stunned

 It was a shock, but not as much as it might have been. I’d tried to have The Talk with Laura but hadn’t managed very well, hampered by excruciating memories of my own mum trying to do the same when she suspected I was having sex at around the same age. (For the record, I wasn’t. And when I did decide to a couple of years later, I saw our GP and never said a word to Mum.)

 It’s never comfortable to think of your child being introduced to sex. But 16 is the age of consent and it’s also the average age for first sex these days, according to the Family Planning Association. And, honestly, the physical side wasn’t as important to me as much as the relationship in which she experienced it. I wanted Laura to learn about affection and mutual respect; that being with a boy didn’t mean accepting bad treatment. And Ed seemed a pretty good bet. Not perfect (what teenage boy is?) but a nice chap. 

Above all, my feeling was relief. ‘You’re a woman of the 21st century,’ I told myself. ‘Be proud of her for being so responsible.’ But at the same time, I felt stunned – it was such a marker of her growing up. 

In that moment, I decided not to talk to her about my discovery; though of course the Pill won’t protect her against STIs, and I’m aware that when she and this boyfriend move on from each other I’ll need to broach the subject again. I told her father that evening – he looked rather taken aback, but agreed that it was the best outcome. 

While I think that it probably was the right thing to snoop, it was one of those no-win parental dilemmas. I still feel bad. Laura may still have her pink pencil case, but she also has a life of her own – and a right to privacy. This experience has made me decide that if I’m worried about her in the future, I’ll intervene openly, not surreptitiously. 

It’s also made me realise what it means to be the mother of a girl on the brink of adulthood. Laura’s not going to tell me everything any more, and I can’t force her to. I miss that little girl – but she’s not coming back. And there’s a rather impressive young adult in my house instead. 

*Names have been changed.