The Interpreted Rock

 By Stephen C. Schultz There is a transition every parent eventually faces that few people talk about honestly. The slow and often painful movement from advocating for your child…to teaching them how to advocate for themselves. At first, it begins naturally. As parents, we speak for our children because they cannot yet speak for themselves. We schedule appointments. We explain emotions they do not yet understand. We intervene at school. We help navigate friendships, conflict, academics, doctors, therapists, coaches, and consequences. This is not weakness. This is parenting. And for parents raising disadvantaged teens or young adults, especially those struggling with mental health challenges, neurodivergence, trauma, chronic illness, or physical health concerns, that role often becomes even more intense. Sometimes advocacy is not optional. It becomes survival. Parents learn medications, treatment plans, educational accommodations, emotional triggers, behavioral patterns, specialist ...

 By Stephen C. Schultz For many families, summer feels like something we spend the entire year reaching toward. No early alarms. No school stress. More freedom. More time together. But for families with teens navigating problematic sexual behavior (PSB), summer can also quietly become one of the most difficult seasons of the year. Because with summer often comes something teenagers rarely know how to manage well on their own. Unstructured time. Late nights. Less supervision. Disrupted routines. Increased screen access. Family vacations. Siblings home all day. Friends coming and going. Boredom. Isolation. Emotional avoidance disguised as “relaxing.” And underneath it all, many teens are carrying far more anxiety, shame, impulsivity, loneliness, and dysregulation than they know how to express in a healthy way. What can look like a carefree summer from the outside can internally feel chaotic for a teen already struggling with boundaries, secrecy, compulsive behavior, or emotional regu...

By Stephen C. Schultz The conversation was light, and the chuckles came easy. My daughter stood at the kitchen island, telling me about Michael Jackson , the new movie, the renewed interest, and how his music seems to be finding its way back into the world again. It was simple and good. Just a father and his daughter sharing something familiar. I turned back to my screen to finish typing a few work notes when a sudden crash broke the moment. A sharp thud at the end of the island. I looked up and she was gone from view. I was out of my chair in a second, rounding the corner to find her on the ground in the middle of a seizure. She had narrowly missed hitting her head on the wall as she fell. I knelt beside her, steadying her, rubbing her arm, letting her know I was there. Nothing complicated, just presence. Slowly, she came out of it, disoriented but returning. I helped her to her feet. There’s always a moment that follows, frustration, a kind of edge that comes with having “one more...