From Playgrounds to Pre-Athletics: Letting Go (Just a Little) as She Starts Junior High

This weekend, my heart feels like it’s in a million pieces — some proud, some nervous, and some just wondering where on earth the time went.

It’s the last weekend before my oldest — my firstborn, the brown-eyed girl who made me a mama — walks into junior high for the very first time.

Junior. High.

How did we even get here? I swear it was just yesterday I was telling Adam I was 99.9% sure I was pregnant. We weren’t “ready” then — but honestly, who ever is? And yet… here we are.

Junior high is a turning point. The place where kids grow three shoe sizes overnight, discover the world of deodorant (hopefully), and start speaking in TikTok references that make us feel like we’ve aged 30 years in 30 seconds. Their independence grows, the friend groups shift, and yes… sometimes a little sass sneaks in that makes me say, “Nuh uh, girl… think again.” Gone are the days when I could lay out her outfit without question.

I remember the first day of kindergarten like it was yesterday—her tiny hand gripping mine, her backpack swallowing her whole, and my sunglasses doing their best to hide the fact that I was blinking back tears. Fast forward to now: that backpack is still somehow bigger than she is, but this time she doesn’t need my hand. In fact, she’s gently shaking it off because, “Mom, everyone’s watching.”

Truth is, this girl—and all our kids, really—can teach us parents a lot if we’re willing to let them. I’ve learned more about patience, grace, and what truly matters from her than from most adults. I think children have a way of making us better humans if we’ll just slow down and pay attention.

This year brings pre-athletics — which means her very first locker room. We’ve had the talks: what to expect, how to handle nerves, and how to remember she’s not alone. Some of her worries mirror mine from years ago, and now here I am, the one offering the advice.

We’ve been intentional about the “big conversations” — phones, friendships, faith, safety. She got a phone earlier than planned (thank you, Verizon deal), but with it came rules: no social media, boundaries in place, and a foundation of trust. Along with the phone came a phrase we created together—her “safe phrase.” If she ever feels uncomfortable, unsafe, or just needs me right now, she can text those words and I’ll be there quicker than she can finish typing. It’s our unspoken promise that no matter where she is or what she’s facing, she’s never alone.

The other day in the car, I told her what I’ll keep saying: I trust you. You’re a good kid, and you know Jesus. Just don’t break that trust. You can tell me anything. And whatever you face, I promise — I’ve been there.

But let’s be real, y’all…
This is also the season where I become a part-time chauffeur, part-time counselor, part-time short-order cook, and full-time prayer warrior. Because middle school is a wild ride. One minute they’re little kids asking for fruit snacks, the next they’re negotiating sleepovers like seasoned lawyers.

When they’re little, you’re the coach on the field—calling every play, setting every boundary. But as they grow, you become more of a sideline coach. You don’t stop guiding, but you give them space to run the plays themselves. And sometimes they’ll fumble. Sometimes they’ll score. Sometimes they’ll trip over their own shoelaces. And you just keep cheering, encouraging, and praying over them the whole way.

The Bible says in Proverbs 22:6:

“Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.”

That verse is my reminder that while I can’t walk the halls with her anymore, I can send her out with truth in her heart, kindness in her words, and the knowledge that she is fully and wonderfully made by a God who loves her more than I ever could—a love deeper and wider than anything we can ever imagine.

To all the parents stepping into this season for the first time — I see you. I’m right here with you. May we have patience when they push back, discernment when they need guidance, and the courage to be parents first and friends second (even if it makes us “uncool”).

To my sweet, brown-eyed girl — we named you Faith because, long ago, when we were young and didn’t have a clue, I trusted God’s plans for our lives more than my own. And I’m so glad I did. You’ve been a living reminder that His plans are always better than ours.

So this week, and every week ahead, walk in with courage. You belong. You are loved. And no matter how tall you grow or how far you go, you’ll always be my little girl.

So this week, when you see me in the school drop-off line—sunglasses on, coffee in hand—just know I’m holding it together by the grace of God and dry shampoo.

Because ready or not, here comes the next chapter. And I have a feeling it’s going to be beautiful.

Our steady mantra through it all: Faith First, Heart Open, and Real as Ever.