Nine-ish years ago, I sat in an auditorium for the annual Wesley Kindergarten Kiss N Cry, a whole organized moment for parents to watch their kindergartners walk to their first classroom with their new teacher and classmates. I hugged him before we walked into that auditorium. I waved to him as his class left to get their first day of big kid school started. I watched him go. Then I exhaled, got in my car, and went to work. I spent the rest of that day just wondering. How was he doing? Was he finding his footing in this new place?

Then I exhaled. I let it move through me and kept going.

Last Friday was a smidgeon different.

I watched Frederick walk across that stage at the Georgia Aquarium Ballroom to represent his completion of middle school, and I’m not sure when I’ll fully exhale. Because this transition isn’t just his—it’s mine too. I’m not sure I know yet what I’m releasing, what I’m holding, or what comes next for either of us. I’m still sitting in it.

Frederick has been a Wesley Phoenix since Kindergarten. Nine years. Nine years of morning drop-offs and afternoon pickups. Nine years of school pictures and science fairs and parent-teacher conferences. Nine years of a building that knew his name, teachers who watched him grow, hallways that hold the echo of who he used to be. Wesley has been more than his school. It was a huge part of our rhythm. A whole identity I didn’t realize I’d built around those walls until that Friday, when we took a pic in front of it for the last time.

I am not just no longer a middle school mom.

I am no longer a Wesley mom.

Now it’s time for the big(ger) league of high school. A whole new frontier. A whole new building. A whole new staff with whom to build relationships. A whole new set of worries and opportunities.

High school is the tryouts and warm ups for college. I have said that so many times it has become gospel in our house. Every grade matters. Every choice lands somewhere. Every lesson I’ve tried to pour into him, the fussing, the yelling, the long conversations, the investments I made when I was tired and stretched thin and didn’t know if any of it was getting through: all of it is about to be tested in real time. I won’t be able to witness most of it. That’s the point. Of course, I’ll always be around to support and catch my kid, but now he has to step up and be committed to his own dreams and goals. He has to actively advocate for himself. He has to decide to have the integrity I hope I’ve instilled.

I dropped him off at kindergarten and exhaled, trusting a school to help me shape him.

Now I have to trust him and the rearing that I’ve done so far.

That’s where the worry lives. It’s in the choices he hasn’t made yet, the pressures I can’t buffer him from anymore, the version of himself he’s about to have to locate on his own. High school doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It just starts.

And before high school starts, there’s a summer of firsts. This upcoming week, we’re leaving for Japan, but for separate experiences. Frederick will be semi-independent because he’ll be with his school travel group. I will be nearby in case he needs me, but I just may only see him on his 14th birthday, which is (re)new for me. I can’t even remember the last time I traveled solo, but put a pin in that just for one second.

Then he’s participating in his first residential summer camp later in June at North Carolina A&T. It’s been important to me to build college prep and deeper exposure to HBCU campuses and faculty, just as my mom did when I was growing up. I want him to have room to explore before the stakes are higher and the ante is upped.

*Taking the pin out*

I’m realizing something is shifting for me too. Not just for Frederick. For me.

Focusing on Frederick and making sure he has all the tools and resources and support he needs has been a huge part of my identity and center of gravity. For the last 14 years, I have organized my life around someone else’s schedule, someone else’s milestones, someone else’s becoming. I’ve done that willingly. Passionately.

Now Frederick is stepping into his next chapter, which means I am free-er to step into mine. Not that I’m not giving him tools and support—of course I am, and in some ways I’ll be increasing that. I know that there are some structures I need to double down on/step up on to keep him on track, but I also know that in other ways, I’m having to force myself to step back so that he can develop his problem solving and self-advocacy muscles so that he’s not flailing (hopefully) when he needs those muscles and I’m not around. I also just don’t need to be everywhere monitoring him anymore when he’s at various activities, which frees up time and a smidge of headspace.

This blog has had a few names. It started as Life and Times of Nada Jo, which was my origin story, my first attempt at chronicling my life. I started that one writing about the ups and downs of my 20s and then sporadically when I let my voice shine through, I talked about my life as a single mom. Then it became Real Middle School Mom of Atlanta, specifically rooted in the season I was actually living. But I am no longer a middle school mom.

So I’ve come up with the next name. Return to Ranada: The Audacity of Next.

The return is personal. It’s about gradually moving toward being the center of my own life after years of beautiful, chosen orbit around someone else. The audacity of next is everything I’m walking toward. Work that’s expanding, health I’m finally tending, love I’m allowing myself to explore, daughter dynamics, and all of the other things I juggle but don’t always prioritize.

I don’t have it all figured out, but I don’t think I’m supposed to yet. I do have the nerve to go anyway.

I pray that one day Frederick will know how much energy, effort, and LOVE I poured into him thus far. I pray he rises to the occasion in high school. I hope he pursues his dreams without succumbing to fear or negative peer pressure. I hope he lives his affirmations out loud. The ones he’s been saying before I drop him off at school since, I don’t even know – 5th grade? – including I’m a leader, not a follower. I make good decisions. I stand up for myself. I have integrity: I do the right thing when no one is looking. And more. It’s been our ritual. I just hope those words have been seeping into his pores because the world out there can be scary, but he can handle it if his values are strong.

While he’s becoming who he’s meant to be, I’ll be right here, becoming too.

Soundtrack of My Life: Tomorrow (A Better You, Better Me) by Quincy Jones ft. Tevin Campbell