Middle school is often described as something to endure — a necessary but sometimes painful bridge between childhood and adulthood. Most of us can recall at least pieces of those years. For some, they are memories we would rather not revisit. I don’t remember every detail of my own middle school experience, but I do remember the awkwardness, the hurt feelings, the shifting friendships, the mean girl attitudes, and the way I pushed back so strongly against my own mom’s boundaries and expectations.
Now, as a mom walking alongside children in these same years, I see middle school through an entirely different lens.
Middle schoolers are changing at astonishing rates — physically, socially, and emotionally. In the hallways at school, I see students who look barely ten years old walking beside others who look nearly grown. One child is still clutching a cartoon backpack or a beloved stuffed animal while another is talking about shaving or wearing makeup. They are all searching — trying to figure out who they are, where they belong, and how they fit into a world that suddenly feels bigger and more complicated than it did just a year or two ago.
At home, I feel those shifts too.
One moment my children still want to curl into my arms, and the next they are shutting their bedroom doors, calling out, “Just leave me alone!”
To the moms quietly grieving the younger years — the years when we could scoop them onto our hips, read bedtime stories, sing lullabies, and feel like the center of their entire world — I see you. I am right there with you, often wondering how we navigate what comes next.
As a mom to a thirteen-year-old boy and a twelve-year-old girl, I am still learning. When they first entered middle school, I remember telling my husband and close friends that this stage felt like the hardest phase of parenting I had experienced so far. My own mom often reminds me how challenging adolescence was when she raised me — and I have no doubt she earned that perspective honestly.
The little years quietly slip behind us. There is no grand announcement that they are over. One day, they are simply… different. And suddenly, we find ourselves doing our best to make sense of what I once called the middle school mess.
Life lately looks like constant reminders. Reminders to clean their rooms. To hang up wet towels instead of leaving them crumpled on the floor. To take out the trash — and replace the bag afterward. To avoid eating in their beds. To vacuum spilled popcorn and candy crumbs. To carry dishes downstairs and actually load them into the dishwasher.
Do this. Do that. Please remember. Please try again.
This stage still feels like a surprising amount of hand-holding, just in a different form. It requires repetition, patience, and a daily reminder that responsibility is learned slowly. Some days, if I am being honest, I still question whether I am doing any of it right.
But there are a few things I know with certainty.
They need to hear, often and clearly, “I am proud of you.”
I am proud of you for working hard in school.
I am proud of you for showing kindness.
I am proud of you for treating your sibling with patience.
I am proud of you for remembering to hang up that towel.
I am proud of you for trying — even when trying feels hard.
They also need to hear, over and over again, “I love you.”
I love you today.
I loved you yesterday.
I will love you tomorrow.
I will love you forever.
Middle school is widely known as one of the most challenging seasons for parents — and for good reason. Our once adoring children begin forming stronger opinions, sometimes more critical ones. They grow more independent, sometimes more withdrawn. Their friendships begin to matter deeply. Their struggles become more complex, and we can no longer solve every problem with a hug or a quick kiss on the forehead.
And if I am being transparent, middle school has not only changed them — it has changed me.
This season has been a crash course in patience. In selective hearing. In learning how to remain a steady, loving presence while they figure out who they are becoming. I am learning that parenting during these years requires holding on tightly while also slowly letting go — and that balancing act may be one of the most difficult parts of motherhood.
When I first began writing about this stage, my son was finishing seventh grade and my daughter was wrapping up sixth. Now, they are deeper into these middle school years that once felt so overwhelming to me.
What I have learned since then is that middle school does not necessarily become easier — but it does become clearer.
The door slamming still happens sometimes. The eye rolls still appear. The independence still surprises me. But I have learned that underneath the mood swings and the sudden need for privacy, they are still my children… just growing louder into their own identities.
I have also learned that some of the fears I carried into these years never came true. Instead, I have watched their character grow in ways I never expected. I have seen their empathy deepen. I have seen their friendships become meaningful and supportive. I have watched them begin forming values and beliefs that reflect the people they are becoming.
As another school year wraps up, I wanted to pause and be honest in this space. Parenting middle schoolers can feel messy. It can feel exhausting. It can feel uncertain. But it can also feel incredibly meaningful.
My son — the one who first made me “Mama” — has grown into a young man who loves his classmates and teachers generously. He is kind, respectful, empathetic, and deeply rooted in his faith. He is gentle and thoughtful in ways that make me endlessly proud.
My daughter — my sweet and spirited girl — continues to amaze me with her ability to build friendships and love people wholeheartedly. She gives her best effort in everything she does. She is growing faster than I sometimes feel ready for, yet she still asks for hugs dozens of times a day. She still asks me to lie beside her at night, hold her hand, and listen to music together. While she has grown far beyond those early childhood years, I thank God daily that she still wants her mom.
My children are incredible, talented, compassionate, and beautiful people.
And while I believe in being honest about the challenges of parenting, I am also learning that every chapter — even the messy ones — is temporary. Each phase arrives quickly and leaves just as fast. Childhood does not disappear loudly. It transforms quietly, little by little, into something deeper and more complex.
I am learning to enjoy this mess, not simply endure it.
And if you are walking through the middle school years right now — I hope you are finding ways to enjoy it too.
