“Mom! Dad’s here!” my son exclaimed, his voice laced with anxiety. Alex, now 11, still feels nervous when heading to his father’s for the weekend. I gathered his belongings and embraced him tightly, placing a kiss on his freckled forehead. “Remember, I’ll call you first thing in the morning, right? No later than 8:30, then again between 3 and 4 for the afternoon check-in, and finally between 6 and 7 for goodnight.” I reassured him, knowing my alarms were set. My weekend “off” was about to begin, though it never truly feels that way.
As Alex stepped out, he glanced back repeatedly, and moments later, he returned with a worried expression. “Mom, my arm brushed against those bushes over there. What if they’re poisonous?” His father’s impatience only heightened his distress.
“They’re not poisonous, sweetie. We’ve lived here for years, and I’ve touched those bushes countless times,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Everything will be fine, I promise.” But deep down, I knew it wasn’t fine—not for Alex. He would wash his arm over and over again, as long as his father permitted.
This is when my own anxiety kicks in. Once the door shuts and I hear the car drive away, I silently hope he finds some peace. Alex grapples with OCD and anxiety, signs of which emerged when he was just three. His preschool called me in tears because he was inconsolable over a sandwich they had thrown out; he wanted it back. When he returned home, he was so distraught that he begged me to retrieve it from the trash—even though I knew that was impossible.
I empathized with his feelings since I had similar experiences as a child. I would rather have a loose barrette in my hair than have it fixed by someone. To Alex, that sandwich was infused with my love, which made it all the more significant.
Over the years, Alex’s OCD has fluctuated. One year, he was terrified of germs and poison, turning off light switches using his arm. He washed his hands until they were raw. Later, he felt the need to share every single thought with me, as if not doing so would render them unreal. His endless conversations made my heart ache, and I felt overwhelmed. Realizing I couldn’t tackle Mr. Worry on my own, I sought professional help. Despite my reassurances, my love alone wasn’t sufficient; Mr. Worry loomed larger, and I despised its presence.
Alex is perceptive. He likens Mr. Worry to Pinocchio, which makes sense—Mr. Worry lies. The challenge is that Alex can’t see the lies for what they are. Instead, he becomes ensnared in a complex web, unsure of how he got there or how to escape. Therapy has provided some relief over the years, but as a child, cognitive behavioral therapy proved difficult for him. So, I took it upon myself to help him confront these fears. I consumed expired salad dressing, licked a park bench (yes, it was gross), and held creepy bugs while pretending they were my friends. This is the essence of parenthood—braving fears for our children while hoping not to get stung or slimed.
When my alarm rang, I called Alex. He immediately asked about a gravity hammer for his action figure. “Of course I know where it is,” I replied, recalling how I had miraculously retrieved it from the road last week. Thank you, universe, for saving me from a potential night of “Mom, it’s going to get run over! I need a new one!” as he considered driving cross-country to find a replacement.
I tell Alex that his mind is as intricate and beautiful as the stars above. If he weren’t so intelligent and resilient, he might never escape those sticky webs while also trying to live a normal life. Mr. Worry is a thief, robbing Alex of carefree childhood joys. Grass becomes dangerous, bugs turn toxic, and every little thing spirals into a catastrophe. I long to witness my son in a serene moment, free from those webs and worries.
Yet, perhaps this is part of his journey to become someone extraordinary. His mind is a universe filled with constellations; though obscured at times, on a clear night, they reveal countless stories. That, I believe, is the beauty of Alex’s unique mind.
For more insights on navigating the complexities of parenting, check out our other blog posts on home insemination here: Home Insemination Kit. If you’re exploring the journey of parenthood, Make a Mom provides excellent resources. And for those interested in fertility and pregnancy, Johns Hopkins Medicine offers a wealth of information.
Summary
This piece reflects on a mother’s experience with her son Alex, who struggles with anxiety and OCD. Despite his fears, she provides support and encouragement while grappling with her own worries. The narrative emphasizes the challenges of parenting a child with anxiety, illustrating both the struggles and the beautiful complexity of his mind.