This article originally appeared on Monty Dimond's Substack and has been republished here with permission.

I often feel like I'm not making enough effort to connect with my boys. Life is busy. Benches need to be wiped (5,000 times a day), snacks prepared (I am a glorified snack bitch), and washing needs to be folded (never fucking ending).

All these things take time and suck me into a vortex of keeping the house on track, the wheels churning and bellies full. It allows me to live with the illusion that I am in control. While the external looks orderly, my internal world is a crazy swirl of hot-mess-ness.

All of this comes at a cost, though. The pressure I put on myself to get certain things organised and kept under control has possibly been placed above connecting with my kids.

Watch: The hosts of Parenting Out Loud on how to raise boys to become good men. Post continues below.

But, have I been choosing to keep myself busy doing these things, or am I actually protecting myself from what can honestly feel like rejection from the humans I squeezed out of my loins? If I keep myself busy, the obvious is not as obvious. My older boys don't need me like they used to… at all.

They are 14, 11 and 5. The five-year-old is easy to connect with because he simply demands it. If he wants to do Lego, we do Lego. If he wants to ride his big-boy bike, I take him out for a spin. He demands my attention, but mainly he still craves it, so it's easy.

My 11-year-old is obsessed with friends, basketball and Minecraft. His obsession is no longer me. Our interactions are me passing him a Nutella sandwich and asking him to put his sh** away.

Then there is my teenager — a 14-year-old boy — and the space between us is vast. He has transformed into a man overnight, and his interests lie with AFL and his iPhone. Girls are also in the mix now and, although I share those body parts, I do not play the role in his life of a girl he wants to Snap. When I stop and think about it and hear a grunt instead of a word exit their mouths, I feel a pang of grief for how much they used to need me. I know it's normal. I am told they come back, but it doesn't make it any easier.

They don't want to nuzzle on the couch anymore or have me tickle their backs to sleep. I am like a puppy waiting to be played with, to receive love and attention, and they sniff out my desperation and shift a little further away.

Last night I stumbled on an Instagram clip of Maggie Dent (the boy expert) on The Imperfects podcast. What she said actually made me feel like I'm not failing as badly in the connection department as I thought I was, and it gave me hope that I can fill that cup a little more.

With boys (especially at the ages of my older two), it's all about micro-connections. I can do anything with the word micro in front of it. I have mastered micro. I live for micro. I WILL connect through micro.

Little things like rustling their hair, a quick tap on the back or a little bump as they walk by. There is also the well-timed fart drop that, of course, is an instant connector with any boy.

She also said (which was BRILLIANT) that you only have to be good at parenting 30–40 per cent of the time. The pressure to be nailing it all the time is exhausting and often makes me feel like I'm failing, but 30–40 per cent I can smash out of the park.

Another tip I loved was saying, "No matter what." No matter what happens, there is nothing you can do that will stop me loving you. Say it as they are walking out the door to a party. Reinforce it when they get in trouble at school. Just let them know it, full stop. I love this. It's simple, it's beautiful and it's true. I think it makes a kid feel safe — and that is the main thing kids need: to feel safe.

I'm perfect at imperfect parenting, and maybe implementing these little things more frequently with my boys will scratch that connection itch. I crave the cuddles on the couch, the colouring in, and I even miss pushing them on a swing (actually, I won't go that far). But we find ourselves here now, in a place where that kind of connection doesn't exist, so I need to strip it back and meet them where they're at.

It's not easy being a mum, watching the seasons of your kids roll by and, bit by bit, letting them grow into who they are. Their independence takes over, and their need of me has shifted more into logistics than the simple, innocent play it used to be.

So here's to acceptance, to micro-connection and to 30–40 per cent! And also to reminding myself: I'm doing the best I can… and you are too.

P.S — The other week on my podcast Show + Tell I read out a poem written by a mum about having a teenage boy. I howled the whole way through it, it's so special and every word hit home. You can click here to have a listen.

Feature Image: Supplied.