Looking back, our PSLE journey was nothing short of extraordinary.

At the start of Primary 6, after my daughter had recovered from the severe anxiety attacks she experienced in the second semester of Primary 5 (caused by a couple of unfortunate life events, not academics), I thought we had finally reached a calm, stable place. I was ready for us to put in our best effort for the last lap of her primary school years.

The first half of the year passed quickly and uneventfully, except for a small twist. During Term 2, a bit of puppy love developed between her and her deskmate. They messaged each other frequently. I was initially uncomfortable with this, but when I noticed the boy could cheer her up when she was upset, I felt somewhat reassured. At least someone was showing her empathy.

When the June holidays came, I was mentally prepared for an intense period of revision. My plan was to bring her to the library often, as she was too relaxed at home. I had it all mapped out.

After some early-holiday fun, I took her to the library in mid-June for our first study session. But the moment we arrived, she said she needed the toilet. A short while later, she rushed out, telling me her first period had arrived. Completely unprepared, we immediately headed home, and the next few days passed in a blur.

On 23 June (my birthday) my husband went for his usual basketball game and returned with what he thought was a bad ankle sprain. After a few visits to the polyclinic and A&E, we learned it was actually a ruptured Achilles tendon, requiring surgery.

Life quickly became chaotic.

When school reopened, my daughter discovered that the boy no longer wanted to speak to her. Her questions about why went unanswered, and eventually, he told her she "yapped too much". Soon after, his entire group stopped being her friends. The only interactions she received were teasing or sarcastic remarks. 

I had been praying for a calm lead-up to PSLE after the emotional turbulence of Primary 5, but here we were again, facing unkindness that could easily unsettle her emotions.

Meanwhile, my husband's surgery in July led to a series of unexpected medical complications, resulting in two more hospitalisations in July and August–September.

I tried my best to shield my daughter from worrying about daddy's health, as I didn't want to trigger her anxiety. That meant acting as though everything was fine while juggling hospital visits, caring for her at home, and keeping her studies on track. Weekends were spent at the hospital, where she sometimes attended her online lessons from the ward.

After my husband was discharged in September, his recovery involved regular physiotherapy, doctor reviews, and daily exercise sessions at home. I also had to ensure my daughter stayed focused and motivated. When my husband was bored and watching TV in the living room, I would stay with my daughter in her room, door closed, to help her concentrate.

I wasn't the best at helping with her revision, but we did math together, turning it into a fun competition that motivated her. Some days, the pressure got to her, and I gave pep talks to remind her that effort mattered far more than scores. I told her that regardless of the results, we would celebrate.

Three days before PSLE, P6 students were given study break at home, with school teachers conducting online lessons and gamified revision sessions for that 3 days, to help them prepare.

Then, just two days before PSLE, during an online revision game, my daughter received a “power” to freeze everyone's screen for a few seconds. Some classmates got upset. One girl messaged another, scolding my daughter harshly. This conversation (filled with unkind words and vulgarities)was then screenshotted and posted on the girl's WhatsApp status for others to see. Several classmates reposted it to express agreement.

My daughter eventually saw the screenshot. Being labelled with such hurtful words, especially by people she thought were her friends, devastated her. She cried badly. I wanted to tell the teacher but held back as it was too close to PSLE. Instead, I contacted the girl's mother, but her daughter's explanation (relayed to me by the mother) was, in my view, untruthful. I chose not to ask anything further.

A few classmates apologised later, likely only because I had messaged one of their mothers. The night before the first PSLE paper, my daughter cried again recalling the incident. My heart broke. I was furious but helpless. All I had wanted was a peaceful period of preparation, yet it had been filled with stress and resentment that I had to swallow quietly for her sake.

After PSLE, school life became fun and carefree again. Even though the boy and his friends continued to be unkind, my daughter stood tall. She even performed alongside some of the girls who had posted those hurtful WhatsApp statuses during the graduation performance, braving it all with her head held high.

Then came results day. We walked into school nervous beyond words. When she told me her results, tears filled my eyes. Not out of sadness or joy, but pride. Despite everything (emotional setbacks, social challenges, and family stress) she had done better than she expected.

I am proud, not of the score itself, but of the fact that she did not let life's difficulties defeat her.