The following is a transcript of a segment of our recent Gathering Gold episode on The Middle School Years. Victoria and I highlight and expound upon many of the themes I wrote about in this blog post on the link between the middle school years and anxiety.
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Calling it “middle school” is very interesting and maybe unconsciously and uncharacteristically wise of our culture. Because they are these in-between, in-the-middle years: you’re not a little kid, but you’re not a teenager.
Now we have a new term in the culture called tweens, which I think is also unconsciously and uncharacteristically wise because it also speaks to being between. Again, you’re not quite a teen and no longer a child. From my lifelong work around transitions, we can shine a light on this in-between, middle time and have some understanding or some reference point to say: yes, this is an in-between time. And what do we know about transitions?
There are three stages. In every transition, there’s a letting go, there’s an in-between, which is the liminal zone, and there’s the new beginning. There’s an autumn, there’s a winter, there’s a spring.
That middle stage, the liminal stage, is the in-between. That’s the middle school years. And what we know about the liminal stage is that we are more vulnerable during this time. The metaphors are often the snake without a skin before it grows its new skin. And also the caterpillar in the chrysalis before it emerges as a beautiful, glorious butterfly.
These are perfect metaphors because there’s a skinless time of every transition. There is also a mushy time in the cocoon before the new self emerges.
I love both of those metaphors when talking about the middle school years. Metaphor is always helpful to ground and also to expand into the archetypal place, especially for parents who have kids in or approaching middle school because this time can be very challenging for parents, too. Holding your child within the context of transitions and the frame of a metaphor helps to trust that there is a light at the end of this dark portal.
You’re watching your child who was full of spark and energy and confidence start to retreat, start to get insecure, wonder who they are and where they fit in the world. Things you may not have ever seen before are going to emerge in those years, and it’s hard to trust that, when attended to, the caterpillar will emerge and will contain elements and colors of the child self as they emerge at 16 or 17 as their butterfly self.
But what’s really interesting about the chrysalis stage is that if you mess with it, if you mess with a cocoon and the caterpillar inside the cocoon, if you see the caterpillar trying to emerge and you’re like, oh, I have to help, it looks like it’s getting stuck in there – if you touch it at all, the caterpillar will die. So we have this impulse with our middle schoolers to get in there and help and guide and share this approach and that tool, but what they’re needing from is us to be present, to witness and accompany.
It’s this kind of this mushy, awful, potentially beautiful time of life that just has to be endured. There’s nothing to solve. There’s nothing to fix.
It can be very painful, and as a parent it can be excruciating to watch your child in the mushy, sticky, uncomfortable, long, liminal stage. But to trust that spring always comes, and if witnessed but not messed with, the beautiful butterfly does emerge from the chrysalis.
The snake without a skin, it’s like what you’re saying, Victoria. When we are skinless, we are both extremely vulnerable to criticism, to the hard stuff, but also to our potential gifts. It’s kind of a blank slate time where the seed of something new, of a new interest or gift starts to emerge.
One of the roles of parents and teachers is to pay very, very close attention to the quietest shimmer or whisper of a gift that might be emerging during those years. One of the greatest tragedies of our education system is the way that we do middle school is terrible.
When Asher was in middle school, the only thing I wanted for him and all of those kids was to be immersed in stories and mythology and drumming – in places where they could find and place themselves. I wanted them to be reading some of the great archetypal stories and reading mythology, to be in their bodies, so that any gifts that were going to emerge would be seen and celebrated. But nothing remotely like that happened for him in the school system.
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What were your middle school years like?
It’s so beautiful to read you, Sheryl. Your words help me not only understand that stage of life but also understand myself with more compassion.
I also experienced that time as a true “liminal space.” I moved from a very small, nurturing, personalized private school mid-year to a large all-girls public school and later to another big, secular private school. That transition was deeply destabilizing for me.
I clearly remember the feeling of not fitting in, not belonging, and of sensing that there was something different—and perhaps “wrong”—with me. I was placed in a class where I was 1.5 years younger than everyone else, and just as you describe, there were already established groups, invisible codes, and social hierarchies. My shyness and emotional immaturity only increased my anxiety.
Now, reading you, I can see more clearly how that stage shaped many aspects of my personality for years: I became shy and hyper-aware, and I turned to books and studying as a way to compensate for the emotional chaos I couldn’t express.
At home, there wasn’t a safe space to process what I was feeling. My mother’s emotional world was also chaotic, which only increased my anxiety, my pain, and an inner anger that I learned to suppress. Today I understand that when a child’s emotions are not seen or supported, a deep feeling that “something is wrong with me” can take root and follow us into adulthood.
Books, on the other hand, became my refuge and my salvation. Through them, I discovered worlds where emotional complexity made sense, where other children were also living their own struggles and adventures, and where there were possible paths forward. They gave me a sense of belonging when I couldn’t find it in real life.
Over time, I found my place among the quieter, more studious, sensitive girls… and in some way, that archetype of woman is still the one I resonate with and seek even today.
And there is something else that moves deeply within me as I read you…
I often feel that I would have loved to understand all of this earlier in life, when I was younger, before becoming a mother. Sometimes there is this subtle feeling that I am arriving a bit “too late.”
But at the same time, I’ve also noticed something important: today, with so much awareness and information available, many young women feel overwhelmed and anxious about motherhood. They feel they need to heal everything first, understand everything first… and that can become paralyzing, making them feel like they are never truly ready.
Perhaps it’s not about arriving early or late, but about learning to meet ourselves with more humanity in each stage of life. Neither the unconsciousness of the past nor the over-expectation of the present.
Maybe true wisdom lies in being able to look back with compassion… and forward with more softness.
I also felt inspired to share your blogs with my brother, who is an excellent father raising preadolescent daughters. It felt meaningful that these reflections can reach not only mothers but also fathers who are consciously accompanying their children through this beautiful and vulnerable stage.
Thank you for giving words, metaphors, and meaning to something that is so often lived in silence.
Esmeralda: I’m deeply touched by everything you’ve written here. This especially stands out for me (I got chills when I read it – my body/soul’s indicator that I’m in the presence of deep beauty and truth):
“Perhaps it’s not about arriving early or late, but about learning to meet ourselves with more humanity in each stage of life. Neither the unconsciousness of the past nor the over-expectation of the present.
“Maybe true wisdom lies in being able to look back with compassion… and forward with more softness.”
I’m also thinking about how many of us HSPs turned to books for refuge, and what a blessing books are for so many of us…
thanks so much dear Sheyl for this space….I admire your work and all the years, energy and wisdom you have put on int.
❤️
You ask, “What were your middle school years like?”…
It was all a blur, as I lost my mother just before turning 11. But flashes of memories have been coming up lately from that time in my life. Certainly there were missed opportunities to blossom, to recognize emerging gifts and passions. I focused entirely on studies at an academically rigorous school (Girls’ Latin, in Boston) from age 12 to 18.
Your words are helpful in re-framing that difficult transitional period and “looking back with compassion” as Esmeralda so beautifully expressed in her comments above. Thank you, Esmeralda. And as always – THANK YOU, Sheryl…
Thank you, Linda. Sending love to young you, both around the loss of her mother and the focus on academics. It seems that many of us in this community turned to being “perfect students” as a way to cope with the uncertainty and pain of those years.
Thanks for another fantastic blog. I live in the UK, and ‘middle school’ is not part of our terminology, but I wrote a blog post about my transition from primary (elementary) school to secondary school, which was a confusing painful time. It is available to read here:
https://joshuaseigalpoet.blogspot.com/2025/12/transition-from-primary-to-secondary.html
Thank you, Joshua. I look forward to reading.