Hi, my name is Renée, and I’m a helicopter mom.

I used to scoff at overly involved parents. I never did my kids’ school projects or micromanaged their scuffles with friends. Within reason, I believed in letting my kids make their own mistakes and fight their own battles. But just before our eldest child, Hannah, began her senior year of high school, I watched the Excellence in Parenting Award slip through my fingers.

It started last year when we were looking at colleges in New England, more than 1,000 miles from our home in Louisiana. Hannah fell in love with several, and the tours we took thrilled her. As my excitement for Hannah’s future grew, so did my anxiety about letting her go.

I invited her to watch TV with me, and when she declined, I made the sad puppy face. I visited her room uninvited daily, but she usually got rid of me with a grunt about homework. I friend-requested her on Facebook, but she ignored my request — awkward when you live in the same house.

When I got her in the car after school, I asked, relentlessly: How was the test? How was the dance? How was volleyball practice? She answered: Fine. If I asked for elaboration, she said, irritated, Please stop.