“Mom…” my son begs, his voice quivering. “I feel so anxious.”
He shakes his hands a few times, almost as if trying to physically rid himself of his unease. He breathes deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, a technique we’ve practiced together.
I inhale deeply as well. “It’s going to be okay,” I attempt to comfort him. “You’ve handled this before, right? You can do this.”
This time, we’re embarking on a road trip to visit relatives, a 14-hour journey. We’ll be away for a week before making the return trip. Family road trips are nothing new for us; we spent an entire year traveling the country, driving countless hours and covering thousands of miles. During that time, my son didn’t struggle with travel anxiety. Instead, it seemed limited to occasional worries about getting sick. Only in the past year has he developed a strong fear of being away from home.
I offer the usual reassurances, fully aware of their ineffectiveness. “Don’t stress,” I say. “Everything will be fine. Worrying won’t help.” I find myself repeating these phrases, even though I know from various articles about anxiety that telling someone not to worry is futile. My son has reminded me of this too, yet I still can’t seem to resist.
I seldom use the word “hate,” but I can’t help but express my disdain for anxiety. I understand this contradicts the advice of motivational speakers, but I genuinely loathe what it has done to my imaginative, vibrant child. I despise how it controls him, how it discourages him from pursuing his interests, and how it confines him. Logic and reason, my go-to strategies against my own mild anxieties, feel utterly powerless against this beast.
Anxiety is a cunning, deceitful adversary, and I admit I don’t always cope well. Besides offering unhelpful platitudes, there have been moments when I’ve lost my patience during his anxiety episodes. It’s not something I’m proud of. But when panic strikes at the worst possible times, preventing him from engaging in activities he loves, and it feels like he’s losing a battle against his own mind, I sometimes misplace my frustration — directing it toward him instead.
The truth is, I’m human. So is he. We both falter in managing this relentless foe. However, we’re making progress. He began therapy, and while the first therapist wasn’t a good match, the second seems promising. We’re seeing improvements, and if cognitive behavioral therapy doesn’t yield long-term results, we might consider medication. We’re doing our best.
But it’s incredibly challenging. If you don’t struggle with anxiety or depression, it’s hard to empathize with those who do. This internal battle often goes unnoticed, making it difficult to explain to others.
Anxiety can show up in strange physical ways — like unexplained dizzy spells and headaches. Since everyone experiences a bit of anxiety from time to time, distinguishing between typical nervousness and debilitating anxiety can be tricky for many.
As a parent, all I want is to alleviate my child’s pain. I wish I could confront anxiety head-on and demand it to leave my son alone. I yearn to fix it, to soothe it away, but I can’t.
This means I must educate myself on how to support him and explore every potential avenue for professional help, like the insightful resource found here Women’s Health on Infertility. I need to manage my own frustrations, saving my anger about anxiety for my pillow instead. And I must remember that while it’s frustrating for me, it’s even more so for my son.
To all the parents of anxious kids out there: we may not always get it right, but we’re doing our best. Together, we can navigate these challenges with love and understanding. For more tips on handling anxiety, check out this other blog post on Cervical Insemination. If you’re looking for at-home solutions, visit Make A Mom, a trusted retailer for insemination kits.
In summary, parenting an anxious child is a journey filled with challenges and learning opportunities. By educating ourselves and showing empathy, we can better support our children in overcoming their fears and anxieties.