“Mom…” my son pleads, his voice trembling. “I’m feeling really anxious.” He fidgets, as if trying to shake off the weight of his worries. He takes a deep breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling slowly, just like we’ve practiced.
I let out a deep sigh myself. “Everything’s going to be alright,” I try to comfort him. “Remember when we did this before? You can handle it.”
We’re gearing up for a family road trip, a 14-hour journey to visit relatives. This isn’t our first time at the rodeo—our family once spent an entire year exploring the country, covering countless miles and hours on the road. Back then, travel didn’t faze him. He only had specific concerns, mostly about catching a bug. However, over the past year, the fear of being far from home has taken root in his mind.
I toss out the usual reassurances, fully aware that they often fall flat. “Don’t worry,” I say. “Everything will be fine. Worrying doesn’t help at all.”
I’m aware that telling someone with anxiety to stop worrying is about as effective as telling a fish to ride a bicycle. And yet, here I am, repeating the same ineffective lines.
I dislike anxiety—actually, I’d go so far as to say I hate it. I know that’s not the most inspirational sentiment, but there it is. I despise what it has done to my imaginative, vibrant son. I hate how it tries to dictate his actions, how it discourages him from pursuing what he loves, how it restricts him. It refuses to be reasoned with, and that frustrates me to no end.
Anxiety is like that annoying liar who never tells the truth, and I don’t always know how to deal with it.
In my less-than-proud moments, I’ve lost my cool with him during his anxiety episodes. I can’t stand when panic strikes at the worst times, keeping him from enjoying experiences he genuinely wants. My frustration can sometimes wrongly be directed at him instead of the anxiety itself.
But I’m human, just like he is. We’re both navigating this complicated landscape of emotions, and we don’t always have the perfect strategy for handling that pesky liar. We’re on a journey together—he’s started therapy, and while the first therapist didn’t click, the next one seems promising. It’s early days, but we’re seeing some positive changes. If therapy doesn’t stick, we’re open to exploring medication.
Regardless, it’s a tough road to travel, and it can feel overwhelming. If you don’t struggle with anxiety or depression, it’s really hard to grasp what those daily battles look like. Often invisible, anxiety can present itself in strange physical ways—like dizzy spells or headaches without any clear cause. Since everyone experiences anxiety at some level, distinguishing between typical nervousness and crippling anxiety can be a challenge for many.
As a parent, all I want is to ease my child’s suffering. I wish I could grab anxiety by the collar and toss it out the door. I want to fix it, to nurture it away, but alas, that’s not in my power.
So, I focus on educating myself about how to help him and exploring every possible avenue for professional assistance. I remind myself to keep my frustrations in check; they only serve to add fuel to the fire. I aim to be a source of strength and support for my son while saving my anger towards anxiety for my pillow. And I must remember that while it’s frustrating for me, it’s a hundred times worse for him.
To all the parents navigating the tricky waters of raising anxious kids, you’re not alone. We may not get it right all the time, but we’re doing our best.
For more insights on navigating these challenges, be sure to check out this blog post on home insemination kit and visit Make a Mom for expert advice. If you want to learn more about addressing anxiety, ACOG offers excellent resources on treatment options.
In summary, dealing with an anxious child is a challenging and often frustrating journey. Both parent and child are learning to navigate the emotional complexities of anxiety together. Seeking professional help and maintaining patience is key to making progress.