I’m pretty sure middle school is the seventh circle of hell. 

I know the expression goes, “Little Kids, little problems; big kids, big problems,” but someone could have warned me it would be more like, “Medium kids, huge problems.” 

And when I say huge, I mean COLOSSAL. Everything is a the biggest deal ever.  For my tween, “I can’t find my air pods” is delivered with the same urgency as, “The kitchen is on fire.” True story, the kitchen was ACTUALLY ON FIRE once and my son relayed this information with the level of priority that missing headphones actually deserve. It was quite the explosive mixup. 

My daughter will be entering high school very soon, a whole ass teenager. Of all the ages and stages a parent sees their child through, apart from infancy, none are as drastic as the start of middle school versus the end of middle school.

A little under three years ago, I waved goodbye to a smiling little angel, bouncing off to her first day of sixth grade. And she waved back!

Next week, I will shoulder-ram my way past the laundry pile blocking the entry to the dark void that is her bedroom, and wake her for the last time as a middle schooler. My “little angel” will then glare at me from under her fluffy Costco blanket and silently wish for an anvil to drop on my head. Or whatever Gen Z’s equivalent to that is. A death selfie, maybe? 

It’s not that they stop loving us, or start hating us or anything that dramatic. It’s mostly just the hormones. It’s literally science. But that does not mean it does not suck.

And it’s not just about the moods. It’s everything. The bullies. The popularity contests. The clothes. The pressure to fit in. The pressure to stand out. The never-ending cringe everywhere and all around. And do not get me started on social media.

Before middle school the most pressure these kids felt was trying to catch all those damn Pokémon. 

I can recall my own middle school experience with ease but not much pleasure. I went in like Elizabeth Wakefield from Sweet Valley High and out like Angela from My So Called Life (minus the part where I got to make out with Jordan Catalano).

I remember it all so well. Shamefully, I recollect talking badly about one friend to another behind her back the way preteen girls do. And I didn’t even do it on a cool hamburger phone, so who did I think I was anyway?

I recall having my first crush, not understanding why I suddenly gave a shit about the boy who had annoyed my life 24/7 since sixth grade. It all seems so silly now, but back then the way that boy smiled at me with those metal braces and that blonde mushroom cut practically set my world ablaze.

And when we broke up… ugh.

That’s why the hardest part is watching them, knowing how tough what they are going through is, having been there before, albeit a lifetime ago, but understanding that uncontrollable feeling of being pulled in many directions at once. It can be heartbreaking to watch as a parent because you can only do so much for them. You truly feel helpless.

Sure, sometimes (OKAY, a lot of times), they piss you off with their unnecessary mood swings and misery. At times, you even get the urge to go all boomer and let them know you’ll give them something to cry about. But you know (and they know) the worst thing you’ll do is turn off the wifi. To which really might cry.

These crucial tween years of kids’ lives are so important because they act like they don’t need you at all anymore, when in reality they need you more than ever. So you toe the line in the shadows as a parent, keeping just enough distance for your child to never see you but to always feel you there. It’s harder than it seems, but if you care enough, you’ll get it right. 

So try not to get too depressed watching your children grow up. It’s all normal, it means they’re thriving and not just surviving.

And it also means they’re finally old enough to stay home without a sitter, so you can take that ride to clear your head (or pick up wine or a weed gummy, if you indulge) after a particularly seventh-circle-of-hell kinda day. No one will blame you. Least of all me. Cheers!

Photo: Pexels/RDNE Stock project