I recently took my six-year-old son, Leo, to the doctor. He’s a wonderful child, with long arms and those awkward, growing legs that every parent recognizes. He looks perfectly healthy.
As I sat in the doctor’s office, tears streamed down my face while the doctor reassured me that I did the right thing by bringing Leo in to discuss my concerns. “Many parents tend to brush off their child’s unusual behavior, hoping they’ll just grow out of it, but that’s not usually the case,” he said kindly.
“But why are there so many new diagnoses these days? It feels like everyone has something labeled. What happened to kids 50 years ago who faced similar issues?”
“Fifty years ago, they learned to self-medicate. They found ways to cope, and by the time they reached adulthood, you’d see that one odd janitor who didn’t really fit in, returning home to unwind with a six-pack every night. We’re just better at diagnosing these issues now,” the doctor explained.
I felt the tears welling up again as Leo returned to the room, looking curiously at my red eyes. “I love you, buddy,” I whispered, my heart heavy with affection.
Bath time has always been a full-blown meltdown for Leo; the mere thought sends him into a tailspin. He screams as if he’s in danger, completely inconsolable. Don’t get me started on haircuts. It’s like a switch flips, and I can’t reach him.
In group settings, he rarely speaks. A slight change in routine sends him into chaos, and when two people are talking at once, he covers his ears and cries out, “It’s too loud!” before spiraling into a tantrum that I can’t seem to pull him out of.
Sometimes, I’ll walk into a room to chat with him, but if he doesn’t respond, I often dismiss it as typical kid behavior—and maybe a bit of typical mom frustration.
His teacher pointed out last fall, “There’s something different about him. It would be best to get it checked out sooner rather than later.”
My husband describes Leo as often “on edge,” even when he appears calm and relaxed on the outside. A mother in denial and a seemingly peaceful boy—what a perfect combination for overlooking serious anxiety or sensory processing issues.
Deep down, I’ve always sensed something was off, but honestly…I didn’t want to confront it. There, I said it. I wanted to bury my head in the sand.
After all, is it so strange to see one little figure in an orange jacket playing alone on the school playground? Totally normal, right?
Leo has a heart of gold. He’s adventurous and finds beauty in everything around him. He always wants to be close to me and can turn a simple piece of scratch paper into a cube in seconds. He has an incredible ability to visualize and organize his room down to the furniture layout, and miraculously, his plans usually come together perfectly.
I feel a profound ache for my son, knowing how isolating it can be to grow up with anxiety and OCD. If I could take it from him, I would in a heartbeat, but I’m lost on how to help. The thought of tests, therapies, and diagnoses terrifies me even more than the fear of losing him to this.
Maybe I’m a terrible mom who deserves to be put out to pasture with others like me, living off my parenting missteps. Or perhaps I’m just a mom trying my best.
Maybe “doing my best” means facing my fears and making that phone call I’ve been avoiding. Maybe it means wiping away my tears when I finally reach out for help. If you’re in a similar situation, you might want to check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. If need be, you can also explore options at this authority on the subject.
Summary: Every parent wants their child to thrive, but sometimes it takes courage to seek help when things seem off. This heartfelt reflection illustrates the journey of a mother facing her fears for her son’s well-being, balancing love and anxiety as she navigates a path toward understanding.