“Wear a helmet on the ropes course and don’t join in if kids are doing something stupid.”

These were my husband’s parting words of advice as he hugged my 12 year-old daughter goodbye. She was boarding the bus for a three-day 7th grade wilderness trip. His worries were all about safety.

My thoughts were all about the social stuff. Would the girls be kind to each other? Would they include the new girls? As I kissed Neely, I silently hoped she wouldn’t feel left out while she was away.

Where was all this worry coming from? My daughter has a lovely group of friends.

I’d found my answer a week earlier while listening to her 7th grade math teacher at back-to-school night. My worries this year were not about my daughter’s experience. They were a throw back to my own 7th grade year.

I was caught in an emotional Freaky Friday!

Who was I in 7th grade?

I wore rainbow suspenders with my Levi’s jeans as I painfully grew out my Dorothy Hamill haircut.

I listened to “My Sharona” on my clock radio as I read Seventeen magazine.

I was failing every class, and at the end of 7th grade I was diagnosed with dyslexia.

I had a wide circle of friends, although we weren’t always nice to each other.

My father’s attention was elsewhere. My parent’s marriage was falling apart, and in two years they would be divorced.

None of this bothered me as much as making sure I had found my friends at lunch in that enormous and scary high school cafeteria.

What is my daughter like in 7th grade?

She is a t-shirt, skinny jeans, and running shoes kind of girl who likes her long hair in a no-nonsense, low pony tail “so it doesn’t get puffy.”

She watches YouTube vlogs on how to do ombre frosting on cupcakes .

She is a terrific student with a vibrant, curious mind, and great study skills.

She has a charming circle of friends, who are a bit more bookish than the crowd I would have fallen in with, but they are kind to each other. They laugh often and goof off plenty.

Her parent’s marriage, my marriage, is solid, and made more so by the defining struggle of our family, her younger brother’s vaccine injury at 15 months. If there is a source of pain in Neely’s life, this is it.  It is also becoming a spark for resilience.

She’s in great shape.

What am I so worried about?  I hurt in 7th grade and I don’t want her to.

I can recall with visceral detail the invisible emotional cruelty we girls put each other through. The boys tried out their emerging desire for power in physical fights behind the gym after school–fights that were mostly bluster and posturing with the odd black eye. We girls took our swings for power with words.

“You can’t sit with us today.”

“How many pairs of designer jeans do you have?”

“No one likes so and so today. Don’t talk to her.”

While packing for her wilderness trip, Neely asked for the Happy Birthday banner that I put up at home for the kids. She said a girl in her class was sad that her birthday would happen while she was away from home. As I tucked the banner into her knapsack, I worried. This girl has never spoken to Neely. She is one of the most popular, visible, and socially mature girls in the grade. I had a lump in my throat thinking about what a sweet gesture my daughter was making for a child I seriously doubted would appreciate or ever reciprocate such kindness.

When she got back, as we unpacked her smelly backpack, I couldn’t stop myself from asking if she had put the banner up? Yes, she had. How had the child responded? “She was pretending her birthday wasn’t until she got home.” “Were you o.k. with that?” I asked gingerly, because in her shoes the other child’s reaction would have been epically important to me. “Yeah, no big deal.” And she meant that.

She had done something kind for someone and let go of the need for their approval. My sweet girl is not the insecure 12 year-old I was. This baffles me. Don’t we have the same genes? How is that possible?

I don’t know what proportion of her solid sense of self comes from having a dad who is around in the evenings to walk to Pinkberry with her, or the positive feedback she gets about her good school work, or even her brother’s serious health event and how that has shaped our family’s priorities. I know all these things contribute to how grounded she is.

I’m very proud of her and the stuff we are doing right as parents, the stuff I am getting right as a mom, amidst the stuff I’m not.

We’ve established that I was an insecure bundle of feelings in 7th grade and that Neely is on far more solid ground. I have a happy centered 7th grade girl.

I should be able to relax, right?

I am not relaxing. I’m onto the next worry. Kindness and inclusion are priorities in my household; values we hold dear. Here is my question; am I placing my sweet girl at a disadvantage because the real world of women isn’t always so nice? Is it also my job to help her develop a bit of an edge? I see the edge in some of her female classmates. Is the edge necessary?

Or should I take my cue from her? It is O.K. to risk kindness, even if the other person isn’t able to receive it, if you feel loved and strong at your center.

Rock on Neely, my sweet 7th grade girl! You are miles ahead of your mother at 12 years old.

Alison MacNeil, who welcomes every bit of advice and comment from moms of girls of all ages.

Photo credit: UtahSweetSavings.com