Allow me to make a recommendation.
If you are fifteen and snot locker drunk on the hormone cocktail that God designed to turn us into adults, I’d advise you to go bite your pillow or journal or take a walk rather than say this to your parents:
“You’re not my moral compass anymore.”
They won’t think it’s cute. They won’t respond to your newfound autonomy with pride, excitement, and encouragement.
If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep such epiphanies to yourself.