I'm still grateful when my 40-something daughter calls me when she gets to a destination when she's traveling. I trust that she'll get there, but love the thoughtfulness.
I actually gave her as much responsibility as possible from the time she was a toddler. If she wanted to try something, like climb a stack of pillows onto the couch, I would tell her what outcomes she might experience, and then usually let her go for it without hovering too much. It wasn't easy, but it helped both of us. I learned that she was capable of more than I thought, and she learned that Mama is right, she might tumble off the stack of pillows and get a bump. Tremendous mutual trust and respect grew through that approach.
So in her teens, we had that going for us. I had developed a great deal of trust for her judgment, and she for mine. Cell phones weren't available then, so she was pretty untied and independent when meeting friends. Of course there were risks, but kids don't become as competent or develop as much common sense without dealing with situations. We had established firm curfews. If she was in any sort of trouble, she was to find a telephone and contact me quick.
Contrasting that with my own upbringing, it worked so much better. My mother allowed virtually no freedom, no chances for her daughters to make or learn from our own choices. She hyper-controlled everything – she never once even allowed us to determine when we'd brush our teeth, even. Part of that was her personality, part of it was a desperate need to keep us from making the same mistakes she made (which included two out-of-wedlock pregnancies).
I know she thought she was doing the right thing, but I had to make many HUGE mistakes as a young adult, getting into and out of situations and relationships that would probably not have even occurred if I had been given more independence earlier.
And I already knew I would never smoke, wouldn't drink as a minor, and wouldn't sleep with any guy until I got married – firm decisions that I had made for myself by the time I was 13 or 14. So some of her greatest fears didn't even apply.
But I was at a terrible disadvantage when I was finally allowed to date at 17. All the guys were so much more experienced, and I hadn't figured out any graceful ways to deflect their attention. I never got a second date. Until, that is, my first husband, who had ulterior motives I didn't even realize, persisted and convinced me to marry when I was 18. BAD mistake; he was even more controlling than my mother. It took me 13 years to finally get out of his clutches, and 15 years until our divorce was finalized.
Hanging on too tightly to our children is sort of the emotional equivalent of foot-binding. It can be crippling, even though the exterior results seem socially-acceptable. I think it's important to take deep breaths, accept that they MUST have some freedom in order to grow up, and accept that life is both surprisingly safe and sometimes unexpectedly dangerous.
My best to you, R.. "What if's" will always exist, but most children grow up in one piece in spite of them.
