The High School Leap
The night before his first day, my son was unusually quiet. No excitement, no chatter, just a quiet, heavy presence in the house. I didn’t push, knowing he was processing it in his own way. But the morning drive to school? That’s when the nerves kicked in.
This back-to-school season has hit differently. My son, my firstborn, started high school. My daughter started at a new school. And my heart? Well, it has been on a rollercoaster of emotions.
“Mum, what if I don’t know where to go?”
“You’ll figure it out, love. Everyone is new to this. And remember, you have the girls looking out for you.”
I reminded him that my close friends’ daughters, girls he’s known for years were already at the school and would help guide him. But still, his fingers drummed anxiously on his lap.
“But what if I don’t know what to do? Like, what if I get in trouble for not knowing something?”
“That’s what the first few weeks are for, honey. Teachers know you’re all learning. And if you’re ever really stuck, just ask. People are kinder than we think.”
He nodded, but the weight in his shoulders didn’t lift. When we pulled up, I reached for my phone instinctively. I was so excited to take a photo of him walking through the school gates. A first day of high school photo. A milestone. A memory.
“Mum. No photos.”
I sighed, tucking my phone away. As much as I wanted that picture, this wasn’t about me. This was his moment, his boundary.
I watched as he hesitated before getting out of the car, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar sea of students. Then, as if on cue, one of the teachers he was familiar with from transition days last year came up to greet us and appointed one of the seniors to show him around. A small sigh of relief. He turned back for just a second.
“See you later, Mum.”
And just like that, my boy was gone.
A New Beginning for My Girl
While he was stepping into high school, my daughter was starting at a new school altogether. A new campus, new teachers, new friends to make, so many unknowns for my little girl who thrives on familiarity.
The night before, she curled up next to me.
“What if no one talks to me?” she whispered.
“Then you talk to them first,” I said, brushing her hair back. “A smile goes a long way, love.”
“What if I get lost?”
“You ask. And if you’re too shy to ask a teacher, just look for a kid who looks just as lost as you chances are, they’re in the same boat.”
She nodded but didn’t seem convinced. The morning was a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Unlike her brother, she let me take a quick photo half-smiling, her nerves peeking through.
As I dropped her off, I gave her hand a squeeze.
“Be kind. Be brave. And remember, everyone feels a little nervous on their first day.”
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped out. I watched her go, my heart swelling with pride and aching at the same time.
The Silent Ride Home
Driving back home alone, I felt the silence settle in. No little voices filling the car, no last-minute school run chaos. Just me and my thoughts.
This season of motherhood is stretching me in ways I didn’t expect. Watching them step into new chapters is beautiful, but it also tugs at something deep inside me. They’re growing. Changing. Needing me in different ways.
And me? I’m learning to let go, little by little.
At pickup, my son slid into the car with a casual “It wasn’t too bad.” My daughter had already made a new friend. And just like that, the first day was done.
Motherhood is a series of these moments, holding their hands when they’re scared, reassuring them when they doubt, and then stepping back as they find their way.
This year, we all started something new. And we’re all going to be just fine.
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