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When You’re an Anxious Parent
It was a typical Tuesday evening when I found myself in the kitchen with my partner, Alex, while our three kids were glued to a movie in the living room. I sighed, feeling like I was failing at this whole parenting thing. Alex, casually dressed in denim and a plaid shirt, folded her arms—her go-to move whenever I spiraled into self-doubt—and asked, “How could you possibly be failing?”
Leaning against the counter, I stared at the floor. “I just feel like I am. Like I’m doing everything wrong,” I mumbled.
As is often the case, I struggled to pinpoint my failures; it was just a nagging sensation deep in my gut—a familiar hopelessness that seems to be my default mode. I’ve battled anxiety and depression for most of my life, and while I’ve made progress, it’s a constant uphill battle. Those feelings became particularly intense during my teenage years when I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder. At one point, I lost over 40 pounds, dropped out of college, and seriously contemplated suicide.
These days, I lead a fairly normal life, but I still wrestle with anxiety. Occasionally, I tell Alex that I feel like a failure, and she manages to pull me back from the edge, like a seasoned negotiator.
She stepped closer, asking if work was going okay. I admitted it had been stressful but manageable. Then she inquired about the kids, and I shared my usual observations. Our middle daughter? Sassy but sweet. Our son? Needs to get out more, but he’ll figure it out. And our youngest? Living with her is akin to having a pet raccoon—chaotic yet amusing.
“I feel like I work too much,” I confessed. “I’m not the dad I aspire to be.”
“You’re doing great,” Alex reassured me.
We began listing the positives, and she reminded me of our upcoming camping trip with our daughter, Ella, and how I surprised our son, Max, with the latest book in the series he adores. Hearing her say she loved me lightened my spirits.
Gradually, I felt less like a failure. Alex’s simple questions and encouragement helped me regain perspective.
“Feeling any better?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, a hint of relief creeping in. “Thanks.”
“Good. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said, curious.
“Am I not making you happy?”
Despite her unwavering support over our years together, I realized Alex might never fully grasp my struggles. She’s one of the happiest people I know, and I often wonder if that’s why I was so drawn to her.
“No! No!” I exclaimed. “You help keep me sane.” I paused, choosing my words with care. “When I first started dealing with anxiety, I thought it was triggered by my past—my father’s addiction, my parents’ divorce. But honestly, I think those factors play a minor role.”
I told her about the medications I once relied on to stave off panic attacks, how a doctor suggested exercise as a remedy, which led me to obsess over working out. Before long, I was exercising excessively and even straining my kidneys in the process.
“It was completely illogical,” I admitted. “I was trying to escape an unseen threat.”
Searching for meaning in depression is as futile as trying to attach a tail to an invisible donkey. That’s why many struggling individuals do irrational things, like ending relationships without justification. They’re not unhappy because of their partner; they’re just unstable.
“The best thing I did was acknowledge my depression. I learned to step back and analyze my life logically,” I explained.
Alex listened intently, then I continued, “When you help me see that I have no reason to feel like I’m failing as a father or a partner, you’re doing more for me than I can manage on my own. So yes, you make me happy, but it’s complicated.”
I smiled, hoping she understood.
“Does this make sense?” I asked.
“Yes, it does,” she replied, and in that moment, I felt heard.
Explaining mental illness to someone who hasn’t experienced it can be tough, but sometimes it’s a challenge just to articulate it to myself. Much of my struggle feels nonsensical, yet it’s incredibly real. This is what makes being an anxious parent in a relationship particularly tough—you worry about nonexistent issues and rely on your partner to help you navigate through it.
But isn’t that the essence of marriage, regardless of mental health? It’s about supporting one another through thick and thin, like two pillars holding up an archway.
For more insights on mental health, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination from the CDC. If you’re looking for ways to boost your fertility, you might want to explore this authority on the topic as well. And don’t forget to check out one of our other blog posts for more relatable stories!
Summary
This piece delves into the struggles of anxiety and depression in parenting, highlighting a conversation between Jamie and Alex. It illustrates the complexities of mental health within a relationship and the importance of supportive partners. Jamie’s journey reflects the constant battle with self-doubt and the necessity of open dialogue to find clarity.