This September, my six-year-old son started kindergarten. And while “starting kindergarten” sounds like one transition, it has meant a whole collection of firsts.
An earlier wake-up time. A school bus filled with neighborhood children and unfamiliar faces. A bus driver in the place where Mom has always been. A new elementary school that looks and feels very different from preschool. Getting off the bus, finding his kindergarten teacher, and making his way into a new classroom.
Since he was eight months old, I have been the one driving him to daycare and preschool. This was a big change for both of us.
Watching him board that bus with tears in his eyes was incredibly difficult. Every part of me wanted to scoop him up, buckle him into my car, and make the fear disappear.
As a psychologist, I understood the opportunity in front of him: to experience something unfamiliar and learn, through doing, that he could handle it. As his mom, I felt the ache of watching my child struggle.
Both things were true.
And knowing what mattered did not make it easy.
My mind had plenty to say:
“Will he be mad at me for not taking away his pain?”
“Am I a horrible mom for allowing him on the school bus when he was that upset?”
“Did I just cause long-term psychological damage?”
Even with my training, my mind could turn a difficult goodbye into a frightening prediction about our future.
Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, or ACT, calls it cognitive fusion when we become so caught up in our thoughts that they feel like facts—or instructions we must follow. ACT helps us notice these thoughts, make room for difficult feelings, and choose actions guided by what matters to us.
For me, that meant practicing a small shift:
“I’m noticing the thought that I’m a horrible mom.”
“My mind is imagining that this difficult moment will cause lasting harm.”
That little bit of distance gave me room to consider what was actually happening and how I wanted to respond. I could hear my mind’s alarm while remembering my values: warmth, connection, and helping my son build confidence in his own abilities.
I could feel the urge to rescue him without automatically acting on it.
There is room for comfort here, too. We can acknowledge a child’s fear, offer affection, prepare them for what comes next, and help them take a manageable step. We can say, “This feels new and scary. I’m here to help you practice.”
Supporting a child through difficulty also means staying attentive. If distress persists or intensifies, we can work with their teacher and adjust the support. Courage can grow at different paces.
In our experience, my son’s willingness to board the bus while afraid, paired with my willingness to tolerate my own discomfort, has been followed by much easier mornings.
Just this morning, he excitedly grabbed his backpack, walked out the front door to the bus stop, climbed aboard, and settled into his seat. As the bus pulled away, he smiled and waved through the window.
I thought about those first tearful mornings—and how much learning had happened between then and now.
He had given himself the opportunity to discover: I can feel scared and still do something new.
And I was practicing something alongside him: I can feel the ache of watching my child have a hard time and still support a step that helps him grow.
That smile was a lovely moment. His courage had already been there on the mornings when he cried.
If you are navigating a tender transition with your child this month, try offering yourself a little of the compassion you offer them:
- “This is a hard moment for me and my child. We all have hard moments. May we meet ourselves with grace during this temporary time.”
- “I can offer comfort while making room for my child to practice.”
- “Feeling guilty does not automatically mean I have done something wrong.”
- “I can be a loving parent and still feel uncertain.”
- “We are both learning. We can take this one step at a time.”
Parenting asks us to tolerate some difficult feelings in the service of something deeply meaningful. Sometimes that looks like listening. Sometimes it looks like adjusting the plan. And sometimes it looks like standing at the bus stop, feeling the ache, and waving as our child takes a brave next step.
About the Author
Dr. Amanda Aster McKenna, Psy.D. is a Licensed Psychologist based in Montclair, NJ, providing both in-person and virtual therapy across all PSYPACT states (see full list here).
She specializes in Trauma-Informed Care, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), and Compassion-Focused Therapy (CFT).
In addition to her clinical practice, Dr. McKenna is a professor of psychology at Kean University in Union, NJ — and a proud working mom to three beautiful children.
Until next month,
Your favorite enabler of Mental Wellness
The Montclair Therapist
Dr. Amanda Aster-McKenna, Psy.D.
(She/Her/Hers)
NJ Licensed Psychologist #5888, Private Practice, Montclair, NJ
Adjunct Professor, Kean University, Department of Advanced Studies in Psychology
Manager, New York City Chapter of the Association for Contextual Behavioral Science
Board Member, Mental Health Association of Essex and Morris
*Peace, Love, & Fierce Acceptance*
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