From Primary School to the Tween Years: Holding On to Play

I woke up feeling a bit heavy today.

Friday was our last day at the primary school that has been home for the past six years. Six years of school runs, little uniforms, playground chats, assemblies, craft projects, friendships, lost jumpers, packed lunches and all the tiny routines that somehow become part of the architecture of family life.

It feels strange when a chapter ends. Nothing dramatic happens. You simply walk through the gates for the last time, carrying the same bags and saying goodbye to the same people, and yet something has quietly shifted.

You might know by now how attached I am to the primary childhood years, and how much of my work is an attempt to capture and eternalise their spirit. That particular mix of innocence, imagination, silliness and complete freedom to play without worrying whether it looks cool, useful or even makes sense.

Children can turn a cardboard box into a spaceship, a sofa into a castle and a five-minute walk home into an adventure. They don’t need permission to enter that world. They just do.

Motherhood gave me a second doorway into that wonderland, and I’m not ready to let go of it.

Of course, it isn’t over yet. My son is still young and I know there are so many chapters ahead. It is also an enormous privilege to watch him grow, become more independent and slowly turn into his own person. I know my role as a mother is not disappearing. It is simply changing.

But change can still feel frightening, especially when you have loved a particular season so deeply.

The anxiety comes from wondering whether he will still want to be silly with me. Whether he will still want to play, craft, cuddle or make ridiculous things together. I worry that one day I will suggest something fun and be met with the look that says, “Mum, please stop.”

And beneath that is a deeper fear that I won’t know how to be a good mum to a teenager, because so much of my love language until now has been built around cuddles, games, jokes, costumes, art supplies and making things together.

What happens when those things are no longer wanted in the same way?

Then, on the way home from one of his lessons, we randomly started playing “You’re it.”

There was no plan. No meaningful parenting exercise. No carefully organised family activity. We just started chasing each other.

Within minutes, I was laughing, running and feeling lighter. I felt more connected, not only to my son but also to my own inner child.

It reminded me of something I keep learning and forgetting: I genuinely like myself more when I play. Play brings me back to the version of myself I actually enjoy being around. I’m kinder. More confident. Lighter. More present. Less worried about everything that could go wrong. I stop analysing the moment and actually live inside it.

I’m a better mum when I play. Probably a better human too.

Maybe the answer isn’t to hold on tightly to this chapter, but to keep finding new ways to play as life changes. Play might look different with a teenager. It may become music, jokes, games, travel, cooking, making videos or simply finding ways not to take ourselves too seriously.

As long as I keep making space for it, I think I’ll be okay.

That little game also prompted me to research the subject further. I wanted to know whether this was simply how play made me feel in that particular moment, or whether there were genuine benefits for our mental health and our relationships.

It turns out there is research behind it.

A review published in The Journal of Positive Psychology found preliminary evidence that play can improve positive mental-health outcomes in adults, partly by creating space for connection, positive emotions and other wellbeing-promoting experiences. Another study involving 255 adults found that playfulness was strongly associated with greater life satisfaction and a greater tendency to engage in enjoyable, active experiences.

Research into adult play also repeatedly points towards relationships as an important part of the picture. Play gives us a temporary escape from our usual roles, worries and responsibilities. We meet each other somewhere lighter. For a parent and child, that can mean connecting without instructions, corrections, schedules or expectations. For a few minutes, nobody is managing anyone. We are simply together.

You can read more in the research review, “The Playful Mediator, Moderator, or Outcome?”.

So perhaps the change I felt wasn’t imaginary. My nervous system had been given a small holiday, and my son and I had found each other again through something as simple as running down the street.

Go and play “You’re it” for five minutes and notice what shifts.

Then let me know how it makes you feel.