When you were a child, you saw on TV and in movies those older kids graduating high school and stepping into life. They were the happiest people in the world, and their teenage plans worked like clockwork. Until they graduated, everything fell into place for them — they went through experiences, had relationships, tried things, made mistakes (but small ones, right? Without serious consequences), and in the end, they graduated with a grand, spectacular ceremony, couples arm in arm, beautiful and perfect, the future — the next generation full of promise and real potential to achieve whatever they wanted. Even in their speeches, they said they could do anything, right?

And you wanted that too. You hoped to be just like that — to successfully close the most significant and longest chapter of your life so far, your school years, as a kind of completion, a fulfillment of all the goals you set for yourself (or that were set for you). You wished to have time to do everything you thought one does in high school, so you could look back with a smile and say, “Ahhh, what fun it was. Goodbye for now, I’ll come visit.”

It could have been wonderful, but reality, let’s say, got in the way of all that happening. Meanwhile, time keeps running, the finish line has arrived — whether you wanted it or asked for an extension. There’s no time for wounds, even though there are many scars. The closing whistle is already echoing in the distance. This is happening.

And now, in addition to the complex emotions that arise upon reaching this finishing point, there’s also the pressure of the dress, the shoes, looking wow, and with that, the pressure not to arrive alone, not to be photographed alone, not to show that I’m alone—to dance and take part in the ceremony and the show as if everything is amazing.

And everyone looks very happy and excited, it seems like it’s going really well for everyone, and again you watch from the side like in some American high school movie—only now you’re standing inside it, even though you never wanted to be an actor in the first place, and it hurts. That gap hurts. There’s a feeling that some really fun party is happening and you’re not part of it. Maybe you were there once and were brutally pulled out for some reason, or maybe you never were, never really knew what it feels like to be part of it.

You pause for a moment, and now your daughter—the little girl—is exactly where you were just moments ago. She tells herself the same things, in big ways—she’s sure she’s beyond repair, that she’s not good enough, that nothing will come of her, that she can’t be loved. Maybe she’s afraid she missed the “best time of her life” and that there’s no way back.

You watch her from the sidelines. She’s struggling, maybe sometimes trying to smile and show that everything is okay—after all, she’s finishing high school and stepping into the world. What could possibly be so bad about that? And after all, she had it okay, so why the sadness and the harsh self-judgment?

She’s hurting. She doesn’t know how she’ll make it through these days, through these parties. On top of the shows and movies, there’s now Instagram and TikTok—everything’s even shinier, more measured, more tagged. So how can she possibly measure up?

This drama might seem exaggerated to us—but for them, it’s very real. If we can look at the situation with compassion and patience (even though yes, it can be incredibly frustrating at times!)—we can become grounding and supportive figures. Ones who recognize the storm, and also help to gently regulate it. Who create space for sharing what’s going on, and encourage softening of the emotional isolation that may feel especially intense right now.

It may already feel like ancient history, but just a reminder: three years ago, the world came to a halt. The students finishing middle school this year never got a proper ending to elementary school. Those finishing high school never got to properly close their middle school years. For them, this is both their first and last school graduation ceremony—which certainly doesn’t make the emotional intensity of this moment any easier.

Let’s try to ask ourselves: “What is the concrete difficulty that the end-of-year party preparations are covering up? What’s the core of it?” If it’s hard to figure out on our own, we can gently ask—in a calm, private moment, not in the middle of a storm or argument: “I see this period is hard for you, and that getting ready for the end-of-year events is bringing up a lot. Would you like to talk about it? Maybe we can try to figure out what’s bothering you most. I promise to listen and do what I can to make it easier for you.”

It might stem from social struggles, unmet expectations in different areas, body image or self-confidence issues, or—similar to what we sometimes experience around birthdays—a need for self-reflection as something ends and something new begins. Of course, there could be many other reasons as well. Either way, there’s a good chance we can truly ease some of the pain—perhaps even quite easily—if we try to help with both the practical challenges and the deeper emotional layers underneath.

Maybe we’re already “from the past” (us?! No way—we were just there a moment ago!). And maybe these past years haven’t always been marked by open, easy connection— but there is always room to mend. We’re here, on their side, no matter what— even if the gap between the fantasy and reality feels impossibly wide.

I promise you—June will eventually pass. It will take with it the ceremonies, the events, the reflections, and all the pressures they bring. And all this built-up tension? It will ease, making space for whatever challenges come next.