We were driving to school this morning—just Isabelle and me.
Over the next two weeks, she has her state middle school exams. Big ones. The kind that don’t just stay in the classroom, but stretch out into the hallways, the conversations, the quiet parts of the day.
She’s a great student. Straight A’s. One of the smartest in her class.
But with her anxieties, every test feels like a big test. A new mountain to climb.
She talked more than usual on the way there.
I think it was the nerves trying to find a way out.
She read aloud a letter her mom had written her—a support letter—to remind her of who she is.
She believed the words.
Mostly.
But you could hear the doubts still trying to slip through.
I didn’t know what else to say.
I told her a couple of times that she would do great.
I hope she heard it.
I hope it registered.
Mostly, I just listened.
Sometimes that has to be enough.
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