We're starting something new again...

Today, my 11-year-old starts something new.

Swimming. Level 1 – summer basics. Nothing fancy, just a fresh start.

It doesn’t sound like a big deal, but in our world, it is. We haven’t done anything new in a while. After two years of soccer, we walked away a couple months ago—not because she stopped loving it, but because the bullying got to be too much. And not the usual playground politics either. It was harsh. Relentless. Not because she’s a terrible kid—she’s actually the biggest sweetheart you’ll ever meet. She’s quirky and loud and imaginative and silly. She dances when she talks. She laughs big. She takes up space. And for some people, that’s just... too much.

She doesn’t always understand social boundaries. She has ADHD. The kind that makes everything louder, harder, and more unpredictable. This year, after a long wait, we finally got connected with a pediatrician and started her on medication. It’s helping. Slowly.

Last year she almost failed Grade 4. This year, with the right teacher, she’s made progress. Her confidence is inching back. But as a mom, every time we try something new, the anxiety creeps in. My heart tightens and I brace myself.

What if she’s too much again? What if the instructor doesn't know what to do with her energy? What if she doesn’t make friends? What if her own anxiety—the kind that always flares with anything new—gets the best of her?

Because that’s the kicker: she wants to do new things. She chooses it. She pushes for it. But new things terrify her. And the first few sessions of anything—camp, class, lesson—are always rocky. She tests boundaries. Pushes buttons. Paces herself in her own, chaotic way. It’s not defiance. It’s her process. Her version of “settling in.”

Sometimes it works. Sometimes she’s lucky enough to land in a space where someone gets it. But most of the time? People don’t. And she gets labeled. Difficult. Disruptive. Disrespectful.

And it breaks her. And it breaks me.

I wish I could ask for more grace for her. I wish more grownups had the patience to see past the noise to the giant heart underneath. But I’ve learned the hard way that many adults can’t regulate themselves, let alone someone else. Especially a little girl who doesn’t fit the mold.

So I’m sitting here today with an aching heart and a nervous mind. Holding onto hope, holding back tears. Because my kiddo—my beautiful, loud, different kiddo—is stepping into something new. Again.

And I’ll be cheering for her from the sidelines, praying this is one of the times where someone sees her magic before they judge her volume. Hoping this is one of the places where she can be all of herself, and still belong.