As dawn breaks on the first day of school, I jolt awake at 5 a.m., overwhelmed by a wave of anxiety that feels as if I’m the one entering middle school instead of my daughters. My stomach churns with worry as I prepare to send my girls into fifth and seventh grades. What could possibly be causing this stress? They are fortunate to attend a supportive, nurturing school that offers a wealth of individual attention—something many parents dream about. They have been happy there for years, and the only significant change this fall is my younger daughter starting middle school, a transition her older sister has already navigated.
Yet, I lie awake, tossing and turning, consumed by worry. My thoughts spiral through every conceivable mishap that could befall my daughters this year while also reminding me of the things I haven’t done to ease their transitions. I’ve checked off the necessary school supplies, new backpacks, sneakers, and sports gear. I even assisted in picking outfits for the first two days, including picture day, and ensured they have proper shoes after a summer of flip-flops. Their favorite breakfast items are ready, their phones are charged, and we’ve gone over the bus schedule. By most standards, I should be considered a good parent who has prepared her children well.
But I realize I haven’t reached out to the seventh-grade learning specialist for my older daughter, a step we usually take. I suddenly don’t even know who that is this year. Will this new person understand her dyslexia and its challenges? At orientation yesterday, I attended the fifth-grade meeting, while the seventh-grade session was for students and “new parents.” I already knew everything about fifth grade but now find myself in the dark regarding my older daughter’s teachers. Plus, we didn’t purchase smartphones for either child—will they feel left out? My mind races with these concerns, envisioning every possible negative outcome.
Then, I notice the first book on my nightstand: How to Raise an Adult: Break Free of the Overparenting Trap and Prepare Your Kid for Success by Julie Lythcott-Haims. I can’t recall how I came across this book, but today seems like the perfect day to dive into it. Lythcott-Haims, a former dean at Stanford, provides a thoughtful perspective on modern parenting. She explains how parents have become increasingly involved, evolving from “helicopter” parents who hover constantly to “lawnmower” parents who attempt to remove every obstacle from their children’s paths. This over-involvement often leads to detrimental effects on children’s growth toward independence and confidence.
In the dim light of my bedroom, I feel my stomach begin to relax. I remind myself that my parents didn’t consult teachers before the school year or know all their names. They cared deeply about my sister and me, but they also allowed us to navigate our own challenges. While they undoubtedly experienced their own worries, they didn’t feel the need to manage our emotions as we often do today. I remember my father’s surprise when I shared stories of my adolescent struggles—he had no idea I felt that way. I longed for that independence, both emotional and physical during my own turbulent teenage years. So why is it so difficult for us to give our children the same space?
Lythcott-Haims emphasizes that many poor parenting choices stem from fear—fear rooted in love. We worry our children will face hardship or failure without our help. However, this fear-driven approach can foster the very issues we want to prevent. By constantly smoothing their paths, especially during the challenging middle school years, we inhibit their development of coping mechanisms and self-confidence. Encouraging independence—even when it involves failure—allows them to learn how to handle life’s ups and downs.
In my daughters’ middle school, one notable change is the introduction of letter grades. I recall when my older daughter faced her first graded assessment in Mandarin—a language she was just beginning to learn. After a brief study session, she insisted she was prepared. I couldn’t let it go and pressed her about studying more. “Mom, I’ll live,” she replied. While I’ve shared this anecdote as a humorous reflection on my own anxieties, it highlights an essential point. I once voiced my concerns to other parents, only to hear their tales of fifth graders crying nightly over academic pressures. This made me reconsider my approach. I prefer to have a child who navigates her path based on her own ambitions rather than my expectations. After all, when faced with setbacks, do we want them to crumble or regroup and try again?
As I prepare to wake my daughters at 6:30, I set aside the book and prepare for the day. Once they’re on the bus, I post my morning epiphany online, only to find that several friends have also been awake since dawn, anxiously anticipating the new school year. We’ve decided that next September, we’ll meet for coffee at 5 a.m. on the first day of school—perhaps our kids can manage their own breakfasts.
In summary, navigating the anxieties of a new school year is a shared experience among parents. We often grapple with the balance between providing support and allowing our children to foster their independence. By recognizing our fears and understanding their impact, we can better prepare ourselves and our children for the challenges ahead.