The Truth About Drop-Off Right Now 🤍

I've written and deleted this post about ten times because I keep wanting to wrap it up with a neat little bow, and I don't have one. So instead, I'm just going to tell you where we actually are.

Lennon has struggled with separation anxiety since she first started school, but right now feels like the peak of it. This year came with a big transition — a new K-5 school for first grade, longer hours, and a lot more independence expected of her, in a sense starting completely over. And I think somewhere in there, she's also still grieving summer, when she got to just be home with me.

Here's what gets me: we are doing the things. I have read every blog under the sun from therapists on this. We encourage her, we build her self-esteem up, we comfort her worries instead of dismissing them, we've found every little way we can think of to keep her connected to us during the day. She carries a small picture of our family. She has an essential oil necklace with a calming scent (a tip from her kinder teacher last year that we still swear by). She keeps a special stuffy tucked in her bookbag. I kiss her hand approximately four thousand times before she gets out of the car, hug her, kiss her, and promise her — every single time — that I will be there at pickup.

And every morning and evening, it's still "I'm not going to school." "I don't want to be away from you." The whining, the defiance, and then the floodgates. Drop-off is tough. Some days she doesn't even eat her lunch because she's too upset. Her teacher and admin have been so incredibly good to her — encouraging her, making sure she gets through the door every single day — and honestly, they've encouraged me just as much on the days I've needed it.

Her teacher especially has been so proactive about all of it, and we've really been working together on this rather than me feeling like I'm handling it alone. Lennon even met with the school guidance counselor last Friday, which felt like a good next step for her.

But pickup? Pickup is fantastic. Every single day, without fail, the second she sees me, it's like the whole morning didn't happen.

I'm not writing this because I have it figured out or because I have a five-step solution for you. I'm writing it because I know I'm not the only mom sitting in a parking lot some mornings feeling like she's failing at something she's actually doing everything right for. If you're in it too — the hard drop-offs, the tears, the doing-all-the-right-things-and-it's-still-hard of it all — I see you, and I'm right there with you.

Someday isn't a plan. Today is — even the hard days. 🤍

xoxo,
Katie