“Mom…” my son Ethan says, his voice trembling. “I feel really anxious.” He shakes his hands as if trying to rid himself of the worry weighing down on him. Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly, just like the calming techniques we’ve practiced together.
I inhale deeply, too, and reply, “It’s going to be alright. You’ve done this before, remember? You can handle it.”
We’re embarking on a road trip to visit relatives 14 hours away. We’ll be away for a week before making the same journey back home. Such travels aren’t new for our family; we spent a year touring the country a few years back, covering hundreds of hours and thousands of miles. Back then, Ethan’s anxiety was manageable, primarily focused on fears of getting sick. It’s only recently that he’s begun to dread being away from home—an emotion that’s grown more intense over the past year.
I offer him the usual reassurances, even though I know they often fall flat. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Everything will be fine. Worrying won’t help.” Despite knowing that these phrases rarely help, I find myself repeating them every time.
I don’t often express strong dislike, but I can’t help but say I really dislike anxiety. It feels like it’s stealing my son’s joy. I hate how it tries to control him, dictating what he should or shouldn’t do, and obstructing his passions. It’s frustrating that anxiety thrives on irrational thoughts, while I rely on logic and reason to combat my own mild anxious moments.
Anxiety is a cunning, deceitful foe, and I don’t always cope well with it. There have been moments when I’ve lost my patience during Ethan’s panic episodes. I’m not proud of those times. When anxiety strikes at the worst moments, preventing him from enjoying activities he loves, I sometimes misplace my frustration—directing it at him instead of the anxious thoughts.
The truth is, we’re both human. We don’t always manage our feelings as we should, but we’re trying. Ethan has started therapy, though the first therapist wasn’t the right fit. We’re now working with a new one that seems promising. If cognitive behavioral therapy doesn’t yield long-term results, we’re open to exploring medication. We’re doing our best and noticing some positive changes.
Still, it’s incredibly challenging. For those who don’t grapple with anxiety or depression, it can be hard to fully understand the everyday struggles faced by those who do. Because anxiety often isn’t visible, explaining it can feel impossible. It can show up in unexpected physical symptoms like dizziness or headaches, making it even more complex. Many people experience anxiety at some level, but it’s tough for them to grasp the difference between typical nervousness and crippling anxiety.
As a parent, my instinct is to alleviate my child’s suffering. I wish I could confront anxiety directly and tell it to leave Ethan alone. I want to fix it, but unfortunately, that’s beyond my control. So, I focus on learning how to support him, exploring all possible avenues for professional help. I work to manage my frustrations because they don’t serve any purpose. My goal is to provide Ethan with unwavering support while keeping my own frustrations in check. I remind myself that while it is tough for me, it’s exponentially more difficult for him.
To all the parents navigating these waters with anxious children, we may not always get it right, but we’re doing our best. For additional insights on parenting and mental health, check out this excellent resource from Kindbody. If you’re interested in fertility topics, consider visiting this site as well as this one for more information.
Summary:
Navigating anxiety in children can be challenging for parents, especially when faced with their own frustrations. It’s essential to educate oneself about anxiety and explore professional help while providing unwavering support to the child. Understanding that anxiety is a complex issue can foster empathy and patience.