“May 18th,” my daughter replied, a tad confused. Maybe we should have skipped this event altogether.
The evening prior, my almost 9-year-old had fretted over attending the Birthday Book Club. She’s never been a fan of “rushing around” in the morning. I reassured her that this change wouldn’t affect our schedule; we would simply drive to school instead of her usual bus ride. Yet, despite my attempts to soothe her worries, she remained uneasy. A mere 12 hours before the gathering, she was already feeling the weight of this shift in our routine. I understood her anxiety all too well.
I often wonder if I’ve carried anxiety with me since childhood or if it crept in later. For a long time, I didn’t recognize that the anger, hesitance, frustration, and fear I experienced were symptoms of Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I had no idea that my stomachaches, headaches, and tendency to shy away from social situations were linked to it. I was also unaware that I’m more sensitive to sounds, emotions, and the general chaos of life than most people. This lack of understanding led me to have a rather low opinion of myself.
As for my daughter, I can’t say if she has GAD or if she’s simply a Highly Sensitive Person. What I do know is that I feel a sense of responsibility for her struggles. Yet, amidst my guilt, I’m grateful for my awareness of what she’s going through. While I wish I could alleviate her discomfort, I’m thankful I can equip her with coping strategies, whether her feelings stem from anxiety or the typical challenges of being a sensitive child.
After we corrected the volunteer about the birthday date and affixed her name sticker on the book’s front page, my daughter found a spot to sit and listen to the librarian read. She chose a seat merely two steps away from where she’d been standing, too overwhelmed to seek out a better view. I asked if she wanted to leave for her classroom instead, and she agreed.
We navigated through the sea of backpacks near the library entrance just as the bell rang. My little third grader froze; it was the tardy bell. I reminded her that the librarian had assured us no one from Birthday Book Club would be marked tardy, but her worries lingered.
I took her hands, looked into her eyes, and prompted her to breathe. We inhaled deeply together, then another time, after which she wrapped her arms tightly around me, pouring all her strength into the hug. After our goodbyes, she hurried down the long hallway, and I stood there, hoping to absorb her anxieties and carry the weight myself.
As someone with GAD and who is a Highly Sensitive Person, motherhood can be quite the challenge. I often feel my daughters’ emotions before they even realize what they are feeling. My hope is to be strong enough to support them while also being tuned in enough to recognize when they need help, even before they ask for it.
While my journey as a mom is tough, I can only imagine how much harder it might be for my daughter. Life doesn’t usually give us a choice about the burdens we carry—only the way we choose to carry them.
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In summary, navigating anxiety—whether it’s my own or my daughter’s—comes with its own set of challenges. But with understanding and compassion, we can find ways to support each other through it.