Backpacks, Butterflies, and Buying 47 Glue Sticks

I don't have children. Which means I've never had to convince a tiny human that yes, they do in fact have to wear pants to school. I've never searched the house at 7:12 a.m. for one missing shoe while simultaneously making lunches, signing permission slips, and wondering why the school supply list requires enough glue sticks to build a small log cabin. But I've spent years walking beside the people who do. I've worked with parents who quietly questioned whether they were doing enough. I've sat with educators who cared so deeply about their students that they carried those kids home in their hearts every afternoon. I've partnered with schools trying to meet needs far bigger than reading, writing, and arithmetic. I've watched children walk through school doors carrying invisible backpacks filled with anxiety, trauma, loneliness, grief, and worries no child should have to carry. So while I can't tell you what it's like to send your own child off on the first day of school, I can tell you I've seen what this season asks of families. And it's a lot.

There's something about August that feels like the world's longest Sunday evening. Summer starts winding down. Store aisles suddenly explode with crayons, backpacks, and enough folders in enough colors to make you question whether your child is attending elementary school or opening a filing cabinet franchise. Calendars start filling up. Bedtimes become negotiations. Alarm clocks come out of retirement. Everyone starts bracing for impact. Some people genuinely love this season while some would rather wrestle a raccoon. And honestly, both reactions are valid.

Back-to-school season brings excitement, hope, stress, anxiety, relief, sadness, anticipation, and about seventeen other emotions that seem to rotate every fifteen minutes. For children, it can feel enormous. Will my friends still like me? Will I fit in? What if my classes are too hard? What if nobody sits with me at lunch? What if I don't know where to go? What if everyone else seems to have it figured out except me?

Adults sometimes forget how big those questions feel when you're eight. Or thirteen. Or seventeen. Truthfully, sometimes they still feel pretty big when you're forty-eight.

One of the biggest misconceptions I hear is that everyone feels the same about going back to school. They don't.

For some, school is a safe space, and they genuinely look forward to going back. It's where breakfast and lunch are guaranteed. It's where trusted adults notice when something seems off. It's where routines provide stability. It's where friends, opportunities, music, art, sports, encouragement, and hope live.

For others, it's a trial. Whether it's academically, socially, or emotionally, school isn't a place they count down the days to return to. Maybe learning feels overwhelming. Maybe friendships are complicated. Maybe they're navigating anxiety that shows up as stomachaches every morning. Maybe they're grieving someone they've lost. Maybe they're being bullied. Maybe home doesn't feel safe. Maybe school doesn't either.

Sometimes the child laughing in the hallway is struggling just as much as the one sitting quietly by themselves. The truth is, we rarely know what someone is carrying.

Parents are carrying plenty, too. They're balancing work schedules, childcare, transportation, sports practices, doctor appointments, homework, finances, and trying to remember whether today is "wear red," "bring your instrument," or "don't forget the permission slip you definitely forgot." And somewhere in all of that, they're trying to reassure a child who's nervous while quietly managing their own worries.

Teachers? They're preparing classrooms, learning names, building lesson plans, creating safe spaces, and hoping they can reach every student who walks through their door. Support staff, bus drivers, cafeteria workers, counselors, administrators, school nurses, they're all stepping into another year hoping they can make a difference. That's a lot of people trying really hard.

Which brings me to something I think should be added to every school supply list.

Grace.

Not because people don't need accountability. But because they're human.

Grace for the kindergartner who cries because Mom left.

Grace for the middle schooler whose emotions change directions faster than Ohio weather.

Grace for the high school student trying to pretend they have everything together when they're quietly falling apart.

Grace for the parent who forgot picture day.

Grace for the teacher whose lesson didn't go as planned.

Grace for the bus driver learning a new route.

Grace for the office staff answering the same question for the fiftieth time before lunch.

And maybe, just maybe, the hardest one... Grace for ourselves.

We spend so much time comparing ourselves to highlight reels. The family with the perfectly coordinated first-day-of-school photos. The lunches shaped like woodland creatures (seriously, who has time for that?) The color-coded family calendar that somehow never misses an event. Meanwhile, the rest of us are wondering if cereal counts as a balanced breakfast and celebrating because everyone made it out the door wearing matching shoes.

Here's a secret. Perfection has never been the goal. Connection is.

In behavioral health, we talk a lot about resilience. People sometimes imagine resilience as someone who never struggles, never cries, never gets overwhelmed. That's not resilience.

Resilience is getting back up after a hard day. It's asking for help before things become a crisis. It's checking on a friend. It's letting someone know you're not okay. It's remembering that strength isn't carrying everything alone, it's knowing when to let someone help carry the load.

As another school year begins, I hope we remember that every child walking through those doors has a story. Every parent dropping them off has one, too. Every teacher standing in front of a classroom carries one as well. So before we judge the child acting out. Before we criticize the overwhelmed parent. Before we complain about the teacher who's doing their best...

Let's pause. Let's assume there might be something we can't see. Let's choose compassion before criticism. And let's hand out grace as freely as schools hand out paperwork during the first week of August.

Trust me. There's plenty to go around. And unlike those glue sticks...you can never really have too much.

Jamie