“Mom! Dad’s here!” my son shouted, panic evident in his tone. Alex is 11 and still experiences anxiety when he heads to his father’s for the weekend. I quickly gathered his belongings, wrapping him in a tight embrace and kissing his freckled forehead. “You know I’ll call first thing tomorrow morning, right? No later than 8:30. Then I’ll check in again between 3 and 4, and finally, I’ll call goodnight between 6 and 7. If you don’t hear from me right away, it just means we’re busy, but I promise I’ll call you back.”
I reassured him, as always, that I wouldn’t forget, and my alarms were set. But my weekend respite never truly begins.
As Alex stepped outside, he glanced back repeatedly. Moments later, he rushed back inside. “Mom, my arm brushed against those bushes, and I’m scared they’re poisonous.” His father’s impatience only heightened Alex’s anxiety.
“They’re not poisonous, sweetheart. I promise. We’ve lived here for years, and I’ve touched those bushes countless times.” I smiled and tousled his hair. “Everything will be fine, my love.”
Yet, I know it’s not fine—not for Alex. He will wash his arm as many times as his father allows.
This is where my own anxiety emerges. When the door shuts and I hear the car drive away, I hope he can find some calm. Alex struggles with OCD and anxiety. The signs first appeared when he was just three years old; his preschool called because he was devastated that they had thrown away his sandwich, and he desperately wanted it back. When he returned home, he was so distressed that he begged me to find it—somewhere, anywhere, even in a dumpster. How do you explain to a three-year-old that such a thing is impossible?
I empathized with his distress, recalling my own childhood fears. I once preferred a loose barrette dangling from my hair like a holiday ornament rather than have anyone fix it for me. To Alex, that sandwich represented my love, infused with a sense of magic.
Over the years, Alex’s OCD has fluctuated. At one point, he was terrified of germs and toxins. He would turn off light switches using his arm and wash his hands until they were raw. Later, he became fixated on the need to share every single thought with me, as if doing so could validate their existence. He would talk incessantly, like a stream of consciousness, leaving me both heartbroken and bewildered. Eventually, I realized I needed professional help to combat the overwhelming anxiety that had taken hold of our lives. Despite my constant reassurances, my maternal affection was not enough; anxiety had grown too powerful, and I found myself resenting it.
Alex is insightful for his age. He likens his anxiety to Pinocchio, which resonates since it often distorts the truth. Unfortunately, he cannot see the lies for what they are, becoming ensnared in a complex web of worries, lost in confusion. Therapy has provided some relief, but cognitive behavioral therapy has been challenging for a young child. So, I took it upon myself to guide him through it. I drank expired salad dressing, licked a park bench (which was undeniably unpleasant), and even held insects that made me tremble, pretending they were my little friends. This is the essence of parenting—we endure the discomfort of our children’s fears, hoping to help them overcome their anxieties.
When my alarm buzzed, I called Alex. He asked if I knew the whereabouts of the gravity hammer for his action figure. Of course, I did. Last week, that tiny hammer had flown from the car window, and by some miracle, I found it a quarter-mile back, nestled in gravel (it’s no bigger than a toothpick). Thank you, universe, for saving me from a night filled with “Mom, it’s going to get run over! I need a new gravity hammer. We can drive cross-country if we have to, right? Every store in every town in the country?” eBay, my dear boy, eBay.
I remind Alex that his mind is as intricate and beautiful as the stars in the night sky. If he weren’t so intelligent and resilient, he might never find his way out of those tangled webs while striving to lead a normal life. Anxiety is a thief, robbing him of moments of carefree childhood joy. Grass becomes hazardous, bugs are dangerous, my car might explode, and a black hole could consume us all. I long for the day when I can witness Alex reveling in a moment of peace, unburdened by the webs of worry and potential disasters.
Perhaps, however, this journey is shaping him into the person he needs to become, leading him to a future beyond my current understanding. His mind is a constellation of possibilities. Though the fog may obscure his path, on clear nights, those stars tell a story—one that reveals the beauty of my son’s unique mind.
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Summary:
Anxiety can significantly impact a child’s ability to enjoy a carefree childhood. This article explores the experiences of a mother as she navigates her son Alex’s struggles with OCD and anxiety, highlighting the challenges and strategies they employ to cope. Through professional help and personal dedication, they work together to overcome the overwhelming nature of anxiety, aiming for a brighter future filled with peaceful moments.