To the Parent Sitting in the School Parking Lot

For the parent who just got told "we're concerned"

You're sitting in your car.

Engine off. Phone in your lap. The school is in your rearview mirror.

You just left a meeting. The principal was there. Maybe the guidance counsellor. Maybe the vice principal. They used words like "concerned" and "struggling" and "intervention" and "support plan."

They were kind. Sort of. They meant well.

But all you heard was: ‘Something's wrong with your kid, and we don't know what to do about it.’

Now you're here. In the parking lot. Not quite ready to drive home. Not quite ready to face what comes next.

Your hands are shaking. Your chest is tight.

And you're wondering: How did I miss this? What do I do now? Am I failing my kid?

If that's you right now, or if you've been there; I see you.

And I need you to know something.

You're Not the First Parent to Sit Here

That parking lot moment is where a lot of parents break.

Because up until that meeting, you thought you were keeping it together. You thought your kid was okay. Maybe not thriving, but okay.

And now someone just told you they're not.

What goes through your head:

Why didn't they tell me sooner?

Why didn't I see this?

What am I supposed to do with this information?

Are they saying I'm a bad parent?

Schools call these meetings because they're worried. And they should be.

But they also don't know what to do. So they're handing it to you.

And you're sitting in a parking lot, googling "teen therapists near me" and wondering how you're going to pay for it, how you're going to convince your kid to go, and whether any of this is even going to help.

This is the moment where fear takes over. Fear sprinkled with a healthy helping of shame

Where you start catastrophizing. Where you imagine worst-case scenarios and wonder if your kid is going to be okay.

I know.

Because I've been there.

And I didn't handle it well.

When the School Called About Maddie

When Maddie was struggling, the school called me in too.

They said she was "disengaged." That she seemed "distant." That her grades were slipping and she wasn't herself.

I left that meeting and went straight into fix-it mode.

I talked to her. I set up consequences. I added structure. I took away distractions.

I thought if I just tightened the rules, she'd snap out of it.

What I didn't do:

I didn't ask why.

I didn't stop to think: What's happening inside her that's showing up like this?

I didn't realize that disengagement isn't laziness.

It's withdrawal.

And withdrawal is a warning sign.

The mistake I made: I treated the symptoms. Not the cause.

I saw the grades dropping and the attitude shifting and the door closing more often. And I responded the way a lot of parents respond, with more control, more rules, more consequences.

But tightening my grip didn't bring her closer. It pushed her further away.

By the time I realized something deeper was wrong, it was too late.

What I'd Do Differently

If I could go back to that parking lot moment, here's what I'd do:

I'd pause.

Before jumping into fix-it mode, I'd take a breath and remind myself: This isn't about me failing. This is about my kid needing help.

I'd ask better questions.

Not "Why are your grades slipping?" but "What's making school feel hard right now?"

Not "What's wrong with you?" but "What's going on?"

I'd get curious, not controlling.

Instead of adding rules, I'd focus on connection.

Because kids don't open up when they feel managed. They open up when they feel safe.

I'd find her someone neutral to talk to.

Not me. Not a teacher. Someone outside the pressure of performance and expectations.

Someone who wasn't grading her. Someone who wasn't disappointed in her. Someone who just listened.

I didn't know that was an option. Or maybe I did, and I thought I could handle it myself.

Either way, I was wrong.

What to Do Next

If you're sitting in that parking lot right now, here's what you need to do.

1. Don't panic. But don't ignore it.

The school called because something's shifting.

That doesn't mean your kid is in crisis. But it does mean you need to pay attention.

Take this seriously without spiraling into worst-case thinking.

2. Talk to your kid — but not the way you think.

Don't go home and interrogate them. Don't lead with "The school called."

Instead, try this:

"Hey, I met with your teachers today. They're worried about you. I'm not mad. I just want to understand what's going on. Can we talk?"

And then listen.

Don't interrupt. Don't correct. Don't explain why they're wrong.

Just hear them.

They might not have words for what they're feeling. That's okay. Your job isn't to extract a confession. It's to show them it's safe to be honest when they're ready.

3. Look for the pattern, not the incident.

One bad grade? Not a crisis.

Withdrawal + irritability + sleep changes + declining grades? That's a pattern.

Ask yourself:

• How long has this been happening?

• Is this new, or has it been building?

• Are there other changes I've been dismissing as "teenage stuff"?

Sometimes we miss the pattern because we're too close to it. Each individual thing seems manageable. But when you step back and look at the whole picture, the warning signs are there.

4. Get them support, but make it feel safe.

Therapy is great. But not if your kid shuts down the second you mention it.

Consider:

• A mentor (someone neutral, relatable, not tied to school or performance)

• A trusted adult they already like (coach, friend's parent, youth group leader)

• A peer support group

Sometimes kids need someone who isn't you.

That's not rejection. That's development.

And it doesn't mean you're failing. It means you're wise enough to recognize that you can't be everything for them.

5. Take care of yourself.

You can't help your kid if you're running on fumes.

Join a parent support group. Talk to someone who gets it.

Don't carry this alone.

The weight of that parking lot moment? It's heavy. And it doesn't go away just because you drive home.

You need people who understand what it's like to love someone you can't fix. Who know what it's like to lie awake wondering if you're doing enough.

6. Trust your gut.

If something feels off, it probably is.

You don't need a diagnosis to act. You don't need proof.

You just need to notice and respond.

The school called because they noticed. Now it's your turn.

What the School Won't Tell You

Here's what the school can't say in that meeting:

They're overwhelmed.

Guidance counsellors are juggling hundreds of kids. They see the problem, but they don't have the capacity to solve it.

They're limited.

Schools can offer accommodations, support plans, check-ins. But they can't provide therapy. They can't intervene at home. They can't replace a parent's presence.

They're hoping you'll handle it.

That meeting? It's a handoff.

They're saying: We've done what we can. Now it's on you.

And that's not fair. But it's reality.

The school system isn't built for this. It's built for education, not intervention. It's built for managing hundreds of kids, not for the deep, ongoing support your kid might need.

So when they call you in, they're not saying you failed. They're saying: We can't do this alone. And neither can you.

What you do next matters more than what you missed before.

The Parking Lot Isn't the End

You're sitting in that parking lot because you care.

You showed up to the meeting. You listened. You're here, right now, trying to figure out what to do next.

That's parenting.

The weight you're carrying? It's not yours to carry alone.

Your kid needs you. But they also need more than you.

And that's okay.

What happens next:

You start the car. You drive home. You take a breath.

And then you start paying attention in a different way.

Not with fear. With presence.

You notice. You ask. You listen. You stay close.

And you find them the support they need, whether that's therapy, mentorship, community, or all three.

This moment doesn't define you.

What you do next does.

A Final Word

If you're in that parking lot right now, I'm with you.

I've been there. I know what it feels like to leave a meeting and wonder if your kid is going to be okay.

I also know what it's like to miss the signs and lose someone you love.

I can't go back. But maybe I can help you move forward.

You're not overreacting.

You're paying attention.

And that's the difference between catching it early and wishing you had.

If you need support:

• Join "When Something Feels Off", our free community for parents who are paying attention

• Take the Teen Signal Check, a 3-minute tool to help you know if what you're seeing is something to act on

• Book a call with our team if you need to talk to someone

• If you’re an employer, how many of your employee parents are dealing with this right now?

You're not alone in this.