Sometimes They Surprise You

 If you had asked me last week how Ava was going to handle starting an entirely new school, I would have told you I was nervous.

Not because I didn't believe in her. I know my kid. And historically, big changes have not exactly been her thing.

When she switched from the preschool program she'd been in for years to kindergarten, the first few weeks were rough. There were absolute meltdowns. There were tears. There were a lot of big feelings from a very little person who didn't yet have the tools to understand what was happening.

Eventually, those experiences helped me realize that her anxiety was bigger than I knew how to handle on my own, and that she needed some professional support. Getting that support made a huge difference for all of us.

So when her kindergarten teacher from her old school reached out by email before this first day to tell her she was thinking of her, I appreciated it more than she probably realized. Because she knows Ava, too. She knew this kind of transition could be a big deal for her.

For the last couple of years, Ava attended a small school that was wonderful for her. It gave her room to learn, grow, and become more confident. But eventually, she was going to have to make the jump into a much larger school system.

We ultimately decided to make that jump when her best friend did.

Those two are basically yin and yang. They balance each other in ways I don't think either of them fully realizes yet.

The day before school started, Ava had some big feelings. She couldn't remember how to get to her classroom or the gym, and honestly, that was completely understandable. There was a lot of new information being thrown at her.

But even then, I was impressed by how quickly she came back down from the meltdown.

And then came the first day.

She was confident. She was excited. She admitted she was nervous, but nervous is normal. I knew that.

Still, I was basically waiting for the other shoe to drop.

We got to school and I spotted her best friend's car.

Okay, I thought. Perfect. They'll go in together.

Her friend got out of the car and was immediately overcome with emotion. She was scared. She didn't know where to go.

And I braced myself for Ava to have a chain reaction.

Instead, Ava went into full best-friend mode.

"It's okay. We got this. We will do this together."

Her friend was tearfully telling her she was scared and didn't know where to go.

Ava: "I do. You're going to go with me. We will get there together."

And I just stood there thinking...

When did my seven-year-old become a professional at de-escalation?

I was so proud of her.

I was also a little stunned.

This was the kid I had spent the entire week worrying about.

The kid I was worried wouldn't know where to go.

The kid I was worried would get overwhelmed.

The kid I was worried might have a meltdown.

The kid who had historically struggled with transitions.

And there she was, calmly helping someone else through hers.

I was also very worried about the bus.

She had never had to take a bus at her old school, and I had visions of her getting on the wrong one or somehow ending up in an entirely different zip code on the way to her after-school program.

She did great.

Of course she did.

Every day, she came home having had a great day.

And then there was the after-school program.

This one really got me.

After-school care at her old school had been a major point of contention. She absolutely hated it. She was so miserable that I would try to rearrange my schedule to get out of work earlier whenever I could.

At one point, I had even considered changing jobs so that she wouldn't have to go, or at least wouldn't have to go as often.

So on Thursday, when I picked her up from her new after-school program and she was a little upset with me, I was prepared for the usual complaints.

Except she wasn't upset because she didn't want to be there.

She was upset because I came too early.

She wanted to stay longer.

I actually had to make her repeat herself because I was convinced I had heard her wrong.

Excuse me?

And that's when it really hit me.

I had spent this entire week worrying about a child who was apparently doing just fine.

And I don't feel silly for worrying. I don't think I could have helped it. I know her history. I've watched transitions be genuinely difficult for her. I've watched anxiety take over. I've watched her struggle to regulate when the world suddenly feels unfamiliar.

Of course I worried.

But maybe that's part of parenting, too.

We spend so much time learning our children. We learn their personalities, their triggers, their comfort zones, their limits. We learn what they struggle with and what they need from us.

And then, sometimes, they surprise us.

Ava isn't the same little girl who struggled through those earlier transitions.

She's seven now.

She's grown. She's learned coping skills. She's gained confidence. She's built friendships. She's learned that being scared doesn't necessarily mean she can't do something.

And apparently, she's also become the kind of kid who can look at her scared best friend and say, "We've got this. I'll show you the way."

I couldn't be prouder.

So maybe the lesson for me this week wasn't just to trust Ava.

It was to let her lead.

Sometimes we know our kids so well that we think we already know how they're going to respond.

And sometimes, if we give them the space to show us, they remind us that we don't know everything.

Sometimes they surprise you.