“My tummy hurts.”
“I can’t fall asleep.”
“Could you shut my closet door?”
“Can I sleep in your bed?”
Does this resonate with you? You’re not alone—your child isn’t either.
Every child experiences moments of anxiety, whether it’s about departing from their parents, meeting new faces, or attending a sleepover for the first time. Most children eventually outgrow these phases. However, many don’t spend sleepless nights, miss school, throw unexpected tantrums over separation, or decline sleepovers with friends. It’s important to recognize that some children carry these anxieties into their school years, and I wish I had understood this sooner.
For a long time, I dismissed behaviors like tantrums and fears of the dark as typical parenting challenges. By the time I realized, “This is not normal,” we had already endured countless difficult days and nights. I was exhausted.
Children do eventually learn to sleep independently; they don’t usually struggle for years to stay in their own beds. But my daughter, Lily, did.
About 12% of children experience separation anxiety disorder before turning 18. While that number may not seem significant, it warrants discussion and awareness. Parents need access to information that delineates what is normal versus what is concerning. Just as you know the signs of the flu, where’s the guide for anxiety? I wish I had recognized the warning signs earlier, but I was not aware of them. All my friends had children with some sleep difficulties, so it felt like a solitary battle against elusive sleep demons.
During a period when I was traveling for work, my absence was torturous for both Lily and myself. When I called home, I could barely understand anything through her sobs of “Come home, Mommy; please come home.” It shattered my heart. My partner, Mark, was overwhelmed and irritable, making school mornings chaotic when I was away. I felt immense guilt, torn between comforting Lily and insisting she toughen up for school. I often hung up the phone in tears, but I reassured myself, “This too shall pass.”
Then one day, Lily’s kindergarten teacher mentioned, “It’s wonderful to have you back—no more tummy aches.” That was the first I had heard about these daily episodes. The fact that they disappeared when I was home was a clear sign of her distress. Lily had been worried about my safety while flying, among other concerns. Unfortunately, she lacked the words to express herself, and both Mark and I hadn’t asked the right questions.
Things began to improve when I was home more consistently. Her anxiety lessened, and she felt secure. I thought we were on the right track—she went to school without issue, enjoyed her teachers, made friends, and was happy. But then things changed.
You know how the saying goes: when a child is good, they are very good, but when they are bad, it’s a different story. Lily started declining playdates unless they were at our house. She preferred one-on-one interactions, claiming she felt like a prisoner at school and was constantly worried. If plans changed, she had major meltdowns, inconsolable tears, and tantrums where she refused to get into the car. She stopped attending sleepovers or would need to be picked up in the middle of the night.
Then, after years of sleeping soundly in her own room, she suddenly couldn’t anymore. Initially, we thought it was just a bad dream, but the pattern continued. Night after night, we checked her room for “monsters” and reassured her there was nothing to fear. She couldn’t sleep, terrified of fire, home invasions, or worse, what might happen to her brother.
Clearly, something was amiss. There was no reasoning with her, and as exhaustion took its toll, we sought professional help. However, the stomachaches returned and panic attacks about going to school began. Lily was in distress, and so were we. Mark struggled to understand that her fears were very real, and the resulting tension was affecting our entire family.
Our attempts to soothe her were futile. Tired of the conflict, we allowed her to sleep with us temporarily—a mistake. We all ended up awake, cramped, and restless. Eventually, our second counselor suggested a different approach: placing an extra bed in Lily’s room so one of us could sleep there. This was the first step toward helping her regain independence.
Gradually, she began to sleep in her own room again, which was a relief for us all—though I still wasn’t getting much sleep. Once she fell asleep, we would return to our bedroom, but if she woke up and noticed we weren’t there, chaos ensued. We often found ourselves dozing off in her room, further complicating the matter.
Our once joyful home had devolved into a space filled with anxiety and fatigue. Mark and I were both exhausted, our patience wearing thin, and our older son was feeling the strain of the situation. Clearly, we needed additional help.
We had tried everything—establishing a calming bedtime routine, maintaining a consistent schedule, and creating soothing rituals with her favorite blanket and stuffed animal. We experimented with meditation and soft music, but nothing seemed effective. We recognized that Lily was grappling with significant anxiety, and it was beyond our ability to manage alone. So, we found a new therapist to confront these challenges.
Lily connected well with her new therapist, looking forward to their sessions. One of us remained in her room during this time. We attempted once more to leave after she fell asleep, but it ended in tears. The therapist proposed a more gradual approach: after our calming bedtime rituals, one of us would sit on a chair in her room instead of lying down. This minimized the risk of falling asleep ourselves.
As she grew more comfortable, we gradually moved farther away, eventually transitioning into the hallway until we could finally return to our own bedroom.
How did our therapist facilitate this transition? She encouraged Lily to articulate her fears, which proved more challenging than it seemed. The anxiety prevented Lily from expressing her concerns. The therapist guided her through “What If” scenarios, allowing Lily to share her thoughts with me. For example, when she voiced fears about a fire, we explored the likelihood of such an event.
Another effective strategy was having her visualize her fears, name them, and even draw them, which helped create distance between her and the fear. We incorporated humor, allowing her to “yell” at her fears and thereby make them less daunting. Sometimes, she would draw her feelings, and we would dispose of or burn the drawings to symbolically eliminate them.
One particularly effective technique involved the therapist recording calming meditations in her own voice for Lily. She listened to this soothing message during difficult nights. As we experienced one good night of sleep, it often led to another, and eventually, we established a goal and reward system that empowered Lily. She decided how many nights she would stay alone, and if successful, we would celebrate with a fun activity.
Over time, she learned to take ownership of her challenges and ultimately banished her sleep demons. Miraculously, she even managed to enjoy a sleepover again. Just last week, she returned from a three-week service trip where she didn’t know anyone—an incredible achievement.
In conclusion, navigating my child’s sleep struggles revealed the profound impact of anxiety on her life and ours. With professional guidance and a commitment to understanding her fears, we made significant strides in restoring peace to our family.
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