This morning was a big one for our family — the first day of school, and the first time my son and daughter would be just down the hall from each other in the same preschool.
My son is two and has been talking about starting at his new school for months. My daughter has been equally excited, already plotting how to wrap him into her “girl power” crew.
My husband and I dropped them off together, and as we leaned down for one last family hug, I knew it was more likely that I’d cry than my son would. He’s been ready for this for weeks. He finally gets to play with all the toys he’s only seen during pickup but hasn’t been allowed to touch. And now, his big sister is just down the hall.
He’s good.
I’m good too — but there’s always that familiar cocktail of thrill and sadness that comes with watching our littlest ones grow up and be brave.
Here’s the thing no one really tells you about parenting: every milestone your child reaches is also a milestone for you.
When my daughter first started daycare, she cried — no, wailed — at drop-off every single day for the first week. It was gut-wrenching, and I wanted to pull her out because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her in tears. But by week two, she was fine. More than fine. She was running in to play with her new friends, to learn, to grow.
She had to be brave, but so did I.
The first day of school isn’t just their fresh start. It’s ours, too. It’s learning to unclench your hands when everything in you wants to hold on tight. It’s trusting they’ll be okay in a world where you can’t follow. It’s quieting the voice that says, What if they need me? and replacing it with, They’ve got this.
When I lost my job this spring and decided to pivot, one of my biggest motivations — beyond chasing a dream — was showing my kids what it looks like to get back up when the world knocks you down. They don’t fully understand how big this change was, but I hope that one day they’ll look back and know: their mom had courage when it was scary and hard.
Because bravery, I’ve learned, doesn’t just belong to them. And on days like this, when my emotions sit heavy in my chest, I remind myself: at least now, I only have one drop-off and one pick-up.
The Smallest Acts of Courage
Bravery isn’t always big and loud. Sometimes it looks like:
Taking a deep breath and walking into a room full of new faces.
Raising your hand to ask a question.
Saying hi to a new friend.
And sometimes, it looks like us — parents — forcing a smile that says, I’m fine, even when our hearts are racing. It’s the long walk back to the car, eyes stinging, whispering you’re okay until we almost believe it.
(Although, if I’m being honest, I’ll probably pick them up a little early today to ease my own first-day anxiety.)
How I’m Helping My Kids (and Myself) Be Brave
Here are a few small things that help make these big transitions a little lighter:
Create a Ritual
Last year, my daughter and I created a secret handshake for drop-off — a simple routine to start the day and shake off nerves. This year, maybe it’ll be a family hug before we go in. We’ve also already started talking through our Monday-to-Friday routine I wrote about last week — just another way to make things predictable.
Name the Feeling
“It’s okay to feel nervous.” Naming it helps it feel less scary, for them and for me. I tell my kids about the things that make me nervous all the time so they can see that feelings are normal — and that we can work through them together.
Model Bravery
When I share times I’ve been scared — presenting in a meeting, trying something new — I always tell them how I got through it. Kids notice when you admit that courage isn’t the absence of fear.
Debrief Later
After school, I ask, “What was the best part? What was the hardest part?” Sometimes they share, sometimes they don’t. My son, being two, usually just repeats the same answer every day — and then blurts out the actual story at bedtime. Either way, they know the space is there.
Bravery Grows With Practice
I don’t know how today will go, but I have a feeling we’ll be even more excited to go back tomorrow. Their butterflies will likely disappear long before mine do — because letting go is its own kind of bravery.
But here’s what I do know: I’ll be there to catch them on the good days and the hard ones.
That’s what bravery really is — not the absence of fear, but showing up anyway.
Every first day teaches us the same thing: courage grows in small steps — theirs into the classroom, and mine toward letting them grow.