When my son was born, I was already on high alert about his future. Like any parent, I fretted over whether he was eating and sleeping enough. But with my own anxiety, my worries ramped up: What kindergarten would he go to in five years? What would happen if I ended up in a nursing home, leaving him without a sibling to lean on? You know, the kind of things you definitely shouldn’t be losing sleep over when your child is just six weeks old.
Ironically, I never considered the idea that he might inherit my anxiety. Spoiler alert: he did. I tried to remain calm when, at age three, he struggled to fall asleep or when, at four, he suddenly wanted to be my shadow at kids’ church. It seemed typical for kids to go through phases like that, right?
But then, around six, he started avoiding places he used to love and became a homebody. Nightmares became so frequent that bedtime turned into a battle. Most recently, he developed a crippling fear of scissors, and I couldn’t ignore my instincts any longer. A visit to his pediatrician confirmed what I dreaded: he was dealing with anxiety.
What astounded me was how closely his experiences mirrored my own. When he expressed a desire to skip a friend’s birthday party, I felt that familiar pang of indecision wash over me. I had faced the same dilemma at 15, wanting to go but being too scared to enjoy it. The weight of that misery was etched across his face, and it hurt to see it.
Recently, he’s been grappling with fears about death, a worry I’ve carried for ages. Funny how those thoughts tend to creep in just as you’re trying to drift off to sleep, right? If you can relate, you’re not alone. My son and I share that struggle.
Just last night, he had a meltdown over wanting to say goodnight to me while I was busy with an online class. His dad, unaware of the situation, told him I was occupied. My son was crushed. Although his dad eventually gave him the green light, the thought that it was “wrong” had already taken root in his mind. He cried until distracted by a bedtime story.
Later, I checked in on him, only to find him fast asleep. Watching him, I felt the weight of his lifelong struggles ahead. Tears streamed down my face as I realized how deeply this would affect him. At 34, I’ve learned a few coping strategies, but I can’t erase his anxiety. So I pondered: what can I be grateful for in this situation? Surprisingly, I crafted a solid list.
Finding Gratitude in Our Struggles
First off, we have a unique bond because of our anxiety. I get his thought processes in ways that others might not, and I hope that he’ll be able to understand me just as deeply one day. We talk openly about our feelings, laying the groundwork for a trusting relationship that I hope lasts a lifetime.
Secondly, I can advocate for him in ways my own mother couldn’t for me. She didn’t realize I was dealing with anxiety until I battled postpartum anxiety. I can’t blame her; I didn’t know I had an issue either! But I can be proactive in seeking help for my son while he’s still young.
We also discuss our anxiety with family and his therapist, normalizing what often gets stigmatized. Hopefully, this transparency will spare him some of the embarrassment I occasionally feel.
Lastly, his anxiety isn’t the only thing I’ve passed down. This little guy is bright, creative, and empathetic. Reflecting on how much I cherish my life, anxiety and all, gives me hope that he’ll find joy too.
While I can’t eliminate his anxiety, I can support him through it—and that’s enough for me. Even if my brain tries to convince me otherwise right before bedtime. Seriously, brain, just chill out. We’ve got this.
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In summary, parenting a child with anxiety is challenging, but it also fosters a unique bond. By sharing our experiences and communicating openly, we can navigate this journey together, finding gratitude in the process.