I started obsessing over my son's school supply list. I realized I was just anxious about him starting middle school.

• When my son started middle school, I was worried he'd face bullying, drugs, and self-harm.
• I channeled my nervous energy into buying him the perfect school supplies.

As my son wrapped up fifth grade and graduated elementary school, an unfamiliar, anxious feeling descended upon me. I started to worry about my son's future and what he would soon face.

That future loomed like a long, dark tunnel ahead: middle school.

The transition would rip us from the world of playdates, crayons, and construction paper and thrust us into the big, bad world of adolescence.

I struggled with this transition for my son, and it took me some time to accept that I have little control over what happens next.

My memories of middle school colored my fears for my son

I remembered my own middle school years as both fun and fraught. I loved having new freedoms, like being dropped off at the mall with my friends unsupervised for an afternoon.

But it was also a time of intensifying peer pressure. I began pulling away from my parents, making choices I hoped classmates would judge as "cool."

My peers could be ruthless, cutting down anyone who didn't conform to their standards. I wasn't bullied as badly as some, but I swallowed their proclamations and promises as truth. If I looked and acted just so, I'd be infinitely more valuable to the world.

In middle school, I jumped on an external validation treadmill that became very hard to get off, eventually losing touch with my own wants and needs. Ignoring myself for so long had lasting consequences into adulthood, like dating abusive partners and overdrinking.

I badly wanted to spare my son the suffering I endured.

Today's kids face even harder challenges than I did growing up

While my son seemed to have more self-confidence than I did back in the 80s, the world has changed, too. My daily news feed often sends me spiraling: cyber-bullying, vaping, fentanyl, and self-harm. Was that going to be my kid? How could I possibly keep him safe?

Sure, we helped him tackle the small challenges of elementary school: making it out the door on time, remembering to put his name on his schoolwork, and resolving playdate disagreements. But drugs and alcohol? Porn and internet predators? How could he possibly be ready for all of that?

I longed for a way to crisis-proof my kid with self-esteem bubble wrap, ensuring he could somehow leave middle school with his sense of self intact.

I channeled my anxiety by trying to make things perfect for my kid

By August, anxiety over the unknowns ahead squeezed me like a scratchy, too-tight sweater. When I received the email with a recommended school supply list for the upcoming year, I pounced.

While I knew I couldn't forestall every landmine ahead, I could make sure he showed up to school with a fierce array of school supplies. I printed out the list and flew into action.

I researched pens (erasable! left-hand friendly! continuous flow ink!), locker shelves, and binders. The pile of boxes towering on my doorstep had me second-guessing my strategy — as did my husband's eyebrows, which raised higher and higher with each delivery truck. But my anxiety and uncertainty kept me clicking "Add to Cart."

The night before school started, I sat in the living room unboxing, unpackaging, organizing, and arranging. With each swish, zip, and click of the binder rings, I sent out a silent prayer to the universe: May you be happy, safe, and free from adolescent angst and insecurity.

I need to rely on my kid to show me his needs

Maybe the prayers worked, or maybe he never needed them at all because two months into middle school, my son was thriving. He was making new friends easily and managing the increased workload better than I'd imagined possible. He was not the victim of any vicious bullying or inescapable peer-validation treadmills.

He was doing great — not because of some protective shield of perfectly tabbed binder folders I'd curated, but because of his resilience and resourcefulness. And most of the supplies I bought? They remained totally untouched.

I'd let the noise of the outside world and my own fears drown out the one person I needed to pay attention to most: my son.

Though there will be more twists and turns as we navigate teenagerhood, I learned my lessons from the Great School Supply Panic of 2022. There is no way to pen-proof my child against the challenges of adolescence.

All I can do is remember to be a parent who listens more closely to how her child is actually doing. I need to keep reminding him of who he is and try to enjoy the view from the passenger seat as he starts taking more of the wheel. (Theoretically, of course. There's no way I'm ready for the real thing.)