“How are you holding up?” the psychologist inquired after a session with my son. Lately, this question has been popping up from caring friends, family, and even my husband. I genuinely appreciate the concern, but honestly? I often find myself at a loss for words.
The past few weeks (okay, let’s be real, months) have been a whirlwind of symptoms, meltdowns, trial-and-error with medications, and a seemingly endless parade of doctors and therapists. This all culminated in a thorough neuropsychiatric evaluation at one of the top children’s hospitals in the country.
After several days of assessments, family history forms, and lengthy interviews, we received a report detailing the diagnoses that my 10-year-old son met according to the DSM-V criteria. They confirmed his generalized anxiety disorder, validated our suspicions about ADHD, and also diagnosed him with a mood disorder.
Leaving the hospital, I held my son’s hand tightly while navigating the bustling downtown streets, feeling as if the world had shifted beneath us—unfamiliar and daunting.
Returning home, everything felt the same as we left it: the messy kitchen, my oldest son excited to share his newfound knowledge about flightless fruit flies as frog feeders, and my husband trying to catch up on work after taking time off.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: When your child receives a mental health diagnosis, life continues as usual. Nothing fundamentally changes—except for your heart. That’s the one thing that never goes back to normal.
You walk back in the door, and the meltdowns don’t magically disappear, sleepless nights persist, and your child remains in distress. Treatment takes time to kick in, and even longer to yield results. With my oldest, it took months before we began to see real improvement. I keep reminding myself that patience is key.
The hardest part of this limbo between diagnosis and treatment progress is watching my sweet boy suffer while feeling utterly helpless to alleviate his pain. As a mom, doing nothing feels like a betrayal—like an unbearable weight to carry. It requires more courage and faith than I thought I had in me.
Strategies to Cope
In the midst of this waiting game, I’ve found a few strategies to help:
- Lower the Bar
The schedule, schoolwork, meal planning, cleaning—you name it, all of it needs to be dialed down. We’ve entered survival mode, and it’s essential to adjust our family expectations during this time. - Be Present for Siblings
Fortunately, my oldest son is thriving at the moment. It’s tempting to let him be the “easy” child while I focus all my energy on my newly diagnosed son. But he needs me just as much; he’s trying to process why his brother isn’t quite himself anymore. He needs reassurance, and I must show him he remains a priority, even in the chaos. - Pray—A Lot
I’m talking about the raw, messy prayers. The ones asking for protection, healing, and strength. The “Help me, God,” and “Why us?” prayers. The ones that come without words, only tears. These prayers are my lifeline, reminding me that God has always been with us, and my son is fearfully and wonderfully made, regardless of his diagnosis.
Over time, I’ve begun to see the beauty in my son’s unique brain. He is still the creative, empathetic, energetic, and loving boy I cherish. His diagnoses don’t define him; they are merely part of his story.
So, when someone asks, “How are you doing?” my answer is simple: I’m loving him with everything I’ve got.