Sometimes, it helps to remember that no one, young or old, likes change. You are not alone if you feel overwhelmed. The thing is, you CAN beat the transition blues, and its demoralizing affect on you.
Listen to Jenny Baxter tell this story on Hobart’s ultra106five using the audio player, above.
This story begins when I was just 7 years old. I was in the middle of a huge change: the end of my first day, mid-term, at a new school in inner-city Melbourne . . .
But on the way home, I looked out the tram window and panicked.
Oh no! That was where I should have got off!
Quickly, I pulled the cord, high above my head, but it was too late. It sailed onward – the tram would wait for no man, or even a little girl. My heart was in my mouth as we traveled slowly up the busy road in the after-school crush.
It had been an exciting start to my first day in a completely unfamiliar suburb. Imagine riding a tram to school! My mother had shown me what to do when we caught the tram to my new school that morning. But she hadn’t told me what to do if something went wrong. The trip home seemed to be turning into a disaster.
What to do? What to do?
Knowing I couldn’t get off until the next stop, I waited at the door, but it seemed to take forever to get there. And each second took me further away from the one tiny pocket of familiar streets.
The tram went on, trundling past the glassy-doored cinema on the right; past the end of that other busy street on the left. I didn’t even know it’s name! The tram kept on going all the way up the hill, to the next set of traffic lights. I think I was in shock.
Finally, the tram stopped
Feeling quite sick, I picked up my school bag nestled at my feet, jumped off, and bolted.
I ran as fast as my seven-year-old legs would carry me. Down the hill.
I reached the busy T-intersection. I could see the name now. “BURWOOD RD” the street sign read.
I scooted past the cinema-across-the-road with its big glass doors. And finally, I got back to the pedestrian crossing, where I should have got off.
I paused, waiting for the traffic to stop, itching to cross over. Waiting, waiting,waiting.
Finally, a car stopped to let me cross the road. Close to tears, I ran for all I was worth. I took the corner towards my house, away from the tram line, and the cars, and the noise, and kept running. All the way to our new, still unfamiliar, tiny dead end street.
And Home . . .
Bursting into tears, I galloped inside. Only to find my parents patiently unpacking boxes. Dad had a few days off work to help with our big move.
“I got lost!” I blurted out.
But it was like they didn’t even hear me.
“Hello, Darling, how was your day?”
Could they not see I was upset?
“I missed the stop, and got off the tram way up the hill, and I ran all the way home!” More blurting.
I couldn’t believe they were so calm!
“Well, everything’s alright now, Dear. How was school? Would you like some afternoon tea?”
I swallowed my panic, shook off my tears, and pulled myself together.
“Yes, please,” was all I could manage. What an anti-climax.
“I got lost!”
The Transition Blues are Awful
All this happened after a very long first day at my new school. I’d met a new, stooped-over teacher. She was in place of the young, pretty one I’d loved, and left, the week before. There were odd new songs to sing in music. And I had two new friends, girls who were “assigned” to me, but who didn’t think to play with me at recess. I felt very alone.
It was such a relief to be home, but such a blow to my pride that I’d missed the tram stop.
Clearly, my parents wondered what all the fuss was about. There I was, home safe and sound. To them it was a successful outcome. But to me, in my heart-fast-beating, adrenalin-rushing state, it was som
