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This week a clerical error in the online enrollment process created an unanticipated complication to your school day. An essential document was missing from your records, legal paperwork designed to safeguard specific supports that insure the best possible environment for your academic needs.

Let me back up.

On Monday morning I sent a casual message to your teachers. Having moved to a new state, new neighborhood, and new school I was looking to weave together a greater sense of familiarity with a more personal connectivity. My greatest concern was that you were settling into larger measures of independence. There were small concerns that I didn’t want to overlook or exaggerate.

A missing calculator and ungraded homework left inside your folder were questionable red flags. Rather than leap to worries that revolved around executive functioning skill sets, I wanted to first make certain that your teachers were not concerned. I offered you simple suggestions that would nurture successful habits, feeling comfortable that most of my worries were symptomatic of an adjustment period given so much change.

Before any of the teachers had time to respond, your vice principal reached out to identify a new concern that he might begin to rectify an unintentional error by changing your schedule immediately. I want you to know that in this moment we were all trying to honor the formalities of your needs. Clumsy and well-intentioned, we were checking boxes and honoring professional and personal responsibilities.

Everyone was frantically trying to do the next right thing by you, but it would be you that lead the way.

On the morning that your classes changed, you left our care open-minded and confident. It was only after school, when you walked stoically to the car before crumbling into tears that I knew we had made a greater mistake. On sobs that stole your breath you forced together words that would draft a new expectation of wellness. You told us that you had been placed in a class you didn’t belong in, that the students in your new space needed attention that you did not, and that this change told you and your community of peers that you were not enough.

I let you tire yourself with every steadfast declaration. Your father and I listened carefully and questioned thoroughly each statement for logic and emotion. We pushed against every sensitive doubt to make certain your conviction could withstand a thoughtful challenge.

I asked you to name your worth and the value of others’ judgement. I questioned how hard you would work if allowed a harder path. I prepared you for a long-term investment and the possibility that you might have to wade into discomfort before others would honor your choice.

Internally I struggled between wanting to provide extra academic supports and recognizing the value in self motivation. Ultimately, your father and I decided to support your untraditional request and immediately reached out to your school. We told them that the abruptness of the change had undermined the sense of self and community that you had already established, that we were making personal decisions based on impersonal data. Then we waited.

Late last night, the same administrator who adjusted your schedule to honor your academic needs honored your decision to return to the familiarity of your original schedule. More importantly, he validated your sense of self in the context of your new community. This morning he met you at the school door with a smile asking if you remembered your old schedule.

It isn’t going to be easy, but it doesn’t need to be. You are enough.

Love, Mom

Tagged: Daughter, Moving, Musings, School