When I first became a parent, the concept of a tween was as foreign to me as alien life. I knew about toddlers and preteens, and I even had a vague idea of what the teenage years might hold. But that in-between phase, the one before boys and periods, completely slipped my mind. Fast forward a decade, and I found myself navigating the emotional landscape of my own tween, Maya.
Maya is in the fifth grade. There was a time when I worried about her being overly expressive, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Now, though, she oscillates between moments of affection and total indifference, often lost in her own world, earbuds in, belting out songs by her favorite artists. She loves her little sisters, yet sometimes seeks solitude from them, folding her arms across her chest like a tiny fortress. She’s begun asking me about life, emotions, and everything in between.
Last year, prompted by her curiosity, we had “The Talk,” which made me rethink how I communicated with her, even non-verbally. I’ve tried to strike a balance between being open about life’s realities—bullying, unfairness, and the complexities of growing up—while still preserving her innocence.
One morning, as fate would have it, she woke up quietly on her half-birthday, six months shy of turning 11. I found her curled up in a chair, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “You OK?” I inquired. She nodded, but the solemn look on her face said otherwise.
As I prepared breakfast, she voiced her discomfort. “Mom, I feel gross.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I just feel, like, icky. I get upset over nothing, and then I feel bad about it. It’s confusing,” she confessed.
“Why don’t you take some time for yourself? A shower might help,” I suggested.
“I took a bath last night,” she replied, as if that should be enough.
“That’s fine. I’ve taken two showers in one day when I needed to wash away a bad mood. Sometimes, just standing under the water can be soothing. Want to give it a shot?”
“Could I take another bath?” she asked, hopefully.
“Absolutely, or you could just let the shower water wash over you. It’s OK not to feel like you have to wash your hair; just let the water carry away the yuck.”
She agreed to the bath, and as she settled in, I left her to find some peace. When she emerged, she looked more like herself again, wearing a black dress that flattered her frame.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“A bit,” she replied quietly. “But I still feel… hollow sometimes, you know?”
“I get it. I feel that way too,” I admitted.
“I’ve been wanting to cry lately, but I don’t know why,” she said, her eyes searching for answers.
I took a moment, weighing the complexities of life. There’s a fine line between honesty and sheltering them from the harsh realities of growing up. I wanted to tell her that sadness is a natural part of life, but I also didn’t want to shatter the optimistic view she still clung to.
“It’s OK to feel that way, or even not to feel that way. Emotions can be tricky,” I reassured her.
She picked at her toast, lost in thought. I felt a strong urge to comfort her, to assure her that everything would be alright, but I knew that sometimes, the best support is just being present.
“Would you like a hug?” I finally asked.
“Maybe,” she said shyly.
I wrapped her in my arms, feeling the weight of her growing independence but also the little girl she still was. It struck me how quickly time was passing, and how some moments require us to either hold on tight or let go. As she hugged me back, I realized that letting go doesn’t mean abandoning; it can also mean granting space for growth.
In moments like these, a simple hug can bridge the gap between childhood and the complex emotions of adolescence.
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