As my son finished fifth grade and finished elementary school, an unfamiliar feeling, my anxiety subsided. I began to worry about my son’s future and what he would soon face.
The transition would take us out of the world of play dates, crayons and construction paper and into the big, bad world of adolescence.
I struggled with this transition for my son and it took me a while to accept that I have little control over what happens next.
My memories of high school colored my fear for my son
I remembered my high school years as fun and eventful. I loved having new freedoms, like being dropped off at the mall with my friends unsupervised for an afternoon.
But it was also a time of intensifying peer pressure. I began to drift away from my parents, making choices that I hoped my classmates would deem “cool.”
My peers could be ruthless, cutting anyone who didn’t conform to their standards. I wasn’t bullied as badly as some, but I swallowed their proclamations and promises as truth. If I looked and acted exactly like thatI would be infinitely more valuable to the world.
In high school, I got into an external rut of validation that became very hard to get off, eventually losing touch with my own wants and needs. Ignoring myself for so long had lasting consequences in adulthood, like dating abusive partners and drinking too much.
I wanted to spare my son the suffering I went through.
Today’s children face even more difficult challenges than I did growing up
While my son seemed to have more confidence than I did in the 80s, the world has also changed. My daily news feed often leads me into spirals: cyberbullying, vaping, fentanyl, and self-harm. Would it be my child? How could I keep it safe?
The author, a middle schooler, was worried when her son started high school. Courtesy of Marika Paez Wiesen
Of course, we helped him tackle the little challenges of elementary school: getting out the door on time, remembering to put his name on his homework, and settling playdate disputes. But drugs and alcohol? Pornography and Internet predators? How could he be ready for all this?
I wanted a way to cushion my child’s crisis with a self-esteem wrapper, making sure he could somehow leave high school with his sense of self intact.
I channeled my anxiety into trying to make things perfect for my child
By August, anxiety about the unknowns ahead had been tightening around me like a scratchy, too-tight sweater. When I received the email with a recommended list of school supplies for next year, I jumped.
While I knew I couldn’t prevent every landmine ahead, The can make sure he shows up to school with a set of school supplies. I clicked on the list and went into action.
I researched pens (erasable! left-handed friendly! continuous flow ink!), filing cabinets, and binders. The stack of boxes towering over my doorstep made me think about my strategy—as did my husband’s eyebrows, which rose higher and higher with each delivery truck. But my anxiety and uncertainty made me click Add to Cart.
The night before school started, I sat in the living room unboxing, unpacking, organizing and tidying. With every movement, zip and click of the connecting rings, I sent a silent prayer to the universe: May you be happy, safe and free from teenage anxiety and insecurity.
I have to rely on my child to tell me his needs
Maybe the prayers worked, or maybe he never needed them, because two months into high school, my son was thriving. He was making new friends easily and managing the increased workload better than I imagined. He was not the victim of any vicious harassment or inevitable peer review.
He was doing well—not because of some protective shield of perfectly tabbed binders I had curated, but because of his resilience and versatility. And most of the supplies I bought? They remained completely untouched.
I would let the noise of the outside world and my fear drown out the only person I needed to pay attention to: my son.
Although there will be more twists and turns as we navigate adolescence, I learned my lessons from the Great School Supply Panic of 2022. There is no way to shield my child from the challenges of adolescence with a pen.
All I can do is remember to be a parent who listens more closely to how her child is doing Actually doing. I have to keep reminding him who he is and try to enjoy the view from the passenger seat as he starts to take more of the wheel. (Theoretically, of course. There’s no way I’m ready for the real thing.)