Entering the “tween” phase of parenting is a journey I never anticipated when I welcomed my first child. The term “tween” was not even in my vocabulary a decade ago. I was prepared for toddlers and school-aged kids, and even had an inkling about the teenage years, but the in-between stage slipped my mind entirely. Recently, however, I’ve realized my daughter, Sophie, is firmly in this phase, and navigating her emotions has become a priority.
Sophie, now in fifth grade, used to openly express her feelings, but these days, she often retreats into herself. She’ll sit next to me, sometimes lost in her own world with earbuds in, singing along to her favorite songs, like those by Taylor Swift. At other times, she pours her heart into caring for her younger siblings, only to seek solitude a moment later. Her body language has shifted; she folds her arms when she changes clothes and asks deep questions about feelings and life.
Last year, we had a significant conversation about growing up, one that Sophie initiated. This talk prompted me to reconsider how I communicate with her, including my non-verbal cues. I try to maintain openness, even when she walks in on me in vulnerable moments. We’ve discussed everything from menstruation to the reality of mean girls, always trying to keep the dialogue honest.
However, I’ve come to realize that no matter how much I prepare, conversations often take unexpected turns.
This morning, Sophie quietly woke up, marking her half-birthday—six months until she turns eleven. She nestled into the armchair, and as I walked by, I placed my hand gently on her shoulder. “Are you OK?” I asked. She nodded but looked up at me with a serious expression.
Ten years of seeing those icy blue eyes still leaves me in awe. Her eyebrows have grown darker, adding character to her delicate features, reflecting her evolving personality—still sentimental but increasingly witty and playful.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, allowing her some quiet time. Just as I was about to head into the kitchen, she spoke up: “Mom, I feel gross.”
I paused, intrigued. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just feel icky, maybe itchy. I feel bad for getting upset over nothing sometimes or not wanting to be around my sisters. I love them, but I get tired of them, and it makes me feel bad.”
“Why don’t you take a shower?” I suggested. “Sometimes a good wash can do wonders.”
“But I took a bath last night,” she replied softly.
“That’s alright! I’ve had days where I had two showers. Sometimes, standing under the water helps wash away the bad feelings. Would you like to try that?”
“Can I take another bath instead?” she asked shyly.
“Absolutely! Or, if you prefer, I can set the shower for you, and you can just stand there, letting the water wash away everything that feels off. What do you think?”
“I’d like to try that,” she said.
As we climbed the stairs hand in hand, she settled onto a small footstool—an old piece we bought when she was just starting potty training. The stool bore the marks of our shared moments, with remnants of nail polish and marker stains.
After the bath, Sophie came down wearing a black shirt-dress that highlighted her slender frame. Her hair, still damp, was being combed to the side.
“Feeling a bit better?” I asked.
“Yeah, a little,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual.
“Do you ever feel like there’s a hollow feeling inside?” she asked suddenly.
“All the time,” I admitted.
“I just want to cry sometimes, but I don’t understand why.”
I took a deep breath, aware that answering her questions had grown increasingly complex. I wanted to tell her that it’s normal to feel sad and that sometimes life can be challenging, but I also didn’t want to rob her of her childhood innocence.
“It’s okay to feel that way,” I reassured her.
She looked down, her thoughts racing. “Can I have a hug?” she asked, almost shyly.
“Of course,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. Holding her close, I felt that familiar bond, a reminder that the little girl I once cradled is growing up.
As she embraced me back, I was struck by her strength—small yet undeniably powerful. I wished I had understood earlier that the phrase “it goes fast” applies not only to childhood but also to the moments when we must let go and allow them to navigate their own journeys. Sometimes, letting go means offering a hug instead of a solution.
While it’s natural to want to fix everything for our kids, giving them space to process their feelings is often the best gift we can offer.
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