This is Anxiety

Tonight has been pure hell.  I know people don't understand.  And plenty of people think I've created a monster, or that the way I choose to handle things only exacerbates the situation, or worse yet, that I am being manipulated and controlled by some sort of 8-year-old sociopath.  I assure you, however, I am trying my damnedest to navigate this road as gracefully and sensitively as possible.

For those wondering what I'm talking about, my 8-year-old, Alex, has developed a nasty "case" of anxiety.  It started in the last 6 months or so and focuses itself primarily on weather but more generally on safety (feeling safe, being healthy, etc.).  Leaving the house suddenly makes him feel unsafe and uneasy, especially if there is any chance of wind, precipitation, or heck, a change in barometric pressure of any kind (I exaggerated there a smidge.)   I have seen this anxiousness surface in situations where people are sick or hurt (e.g. Daddy had surgery for a hernia a few weeks ago and Alex was uber concerned that Dad "was ok" and would "be ok" indefinitely).  Of course this increased nervousness also increases his need to be attached to me in true Velcro Boy fashion.  But the most frustrating part is that it manifests in the most unexpected places and times (e.g. on board a naval battleship for a Scout overnight that we've done twice before wherein Alex suddenly expressed a serious fear of small places and wasn't at ease unless he had a direct and well-memorized escape plan at all times).

In the car traveling on a rainy day.

Of course, I don't have all of the answers.  Heck, I don't think I have any of them, really.  I will fully admit I'm winging it every day.  But I am trying to help him the best way(s) I know how.  Afterall, I am the one living this nightmare along side him.  I'm the one who sees the pain in my precious 8-year-old's eyes when he insists, er, demands we stay home or GO home (immediately!).  The point is, I know my kid and I can tell the difference between a fake "I want something" cry and and a real truly scared gut-wrenching sob.  And I know people don't agree.  But I'd like to think that as his mother I can see through the crap and tell the real deal.  I am probably wrong.  But if I'm being totally honest, I would rather err on the side of caution and not risk damaging his emotional well being simply because I didn't "believe him".

I walk a very thin line.  Every. Single. Day.  I weigh the signs, the reactions, the underlying messages and the unspoken emotions.  I try to always think about what the true reason for his outbursts of anger and jerkiness (which seem to be his favorite way to express his anxiety) might be.  Never to assume his behavior is what it outwardly appears to be (for example, he's not REALLY mad at his brother for eating the last banana when the sky just darkened up and he may just be worried about the change in weather).  His behaviors are usually out of left field, or don't make sense in the context of the situation.    I know I'm not a professional and I have come to the realization that he needs one.  I'm working on that.

I just wish other people could see my point of view and try to understand my position.  I'm his Mom.  I'm supposed to fix this.  I'm supposed to make him feel safe and ease his fears.  But with this ugly monster called Anxiety I simply can not seem to do that.  At least not alone.

Struggling...

I really wasn't sure if I wanted to publish this post since the majority of my 20 or so readers are friends of mine and only a few really know of the struggles I've had (most prominently) in the last few years. However, as a "public service" message and in an effort to be forthright and honest with you all, I decided to go for it. Today will be anything but Wordless...

For years I battled issues in my head that made me feel like I was losing my grip. I felt unfocused, overwhelmed with even the simplest of things, and generally unhappy with a life that had all the makings for true bliss. In December of 2006, I decided I needed to talk to someone about it. It had begun to creep into my job as a Mom and I was not having it. I found myself getting easily frustrated, being short tempered, and losing my patience at the drop of a hat. I couldn't focus at work, felt like a miserable failure at home and lacked the motivation to just DO what I knew needed to be done (be it dishes, laundry, shopping, working out, or simply putting down that cookie that I knew was making and keeping me fat).

The day I made the phone call to EAP (Employee Assistance Program, a counseling service offered to employees of the company I worked for), I remember telling the woman on the other end of the phone that I just wanted to be a better Mom, wife, and employee. I was struggling in all areas. And I finally realized that I needed real help.

The verdict? Depression and Anxiety.

I waiver between thinking I'm a player in yet another all-too-often-diagnosed "trendy" illness of the moment and thinking "Yes, of course!". Looking back now it makes sense. Even still, some days I don't feel like I deserve the diagnosis. Like to be depressed I would have to have led a rough life or traveled a difficult road and since I haven't, I somehow haven't earned the right to "suffer" from depression. After all, what do I have to be depressed about? I grew up with the Cleavers, I have a great family, a roof over my head, a job that pays the bills and then some, two BEAUTIFUL and HEALTHY children. I just need to get over it. Change my perspective. Look on the bright side and focus on my blessings. Right? Shouldn't it just be that simple?

I wish.

Fast forward to today. I have been in and out of counseling, tried various medicinal supports, and have both good days and bad days.

Do I still struggle? Yes. Often.

Have I learned ways to cope? Yes. Many.

Does that make it easier? Yes. Sometimes.

It's hard to accept that this is my life. It's difficult to admit that I may always have to "deal" with this on some level. It's definitely not the worst hand life could have dealt me but it has its moments. I don't know if there's a stigma in society about it. I honestly never thought about it until just now. I guess (for once in my life!) I don't care if there is. This is who I am and what I live with.  I do the best I can.

Be afraid...be VERY afraid.

Fear (n.)

a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger,

evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.

I live my life in fear. As a mother I'm not sure how NOT to, honestly. Of course I try not to let it reign over me or overshadow my entire life, but it's always there - gnawing at my temples and the back of my neck, trying to get to me.

I fear a lot of things. I fear for my children's physical and emotional safety and I fear that I'm inadvertently failing them miserably. I even fear that they'll grow up sooner rather than later, take wives and forget all about their dear old mother. Ha!

Fear is a funny creature. It lurks quietly in the shadows of your mind almost invisibly, yet has the overwhelming power to completely paralyze you if you turn your back for a second. And there's a very fine, almost nonexistent line between fear and worry. Worry, of course, the vicious vehicle through which fear is expressed and allowed to reign. And worry is an ugly beast all its own.

So this week's Thinkbox Thursday question was fitting for me, the Queen of Fear and Wizard(ess) of Worry.

What were you afraid of as a child? Why? Did this fear follow you into adulthood?

I was afraid of a lot of things as a child but my two biggest fears would unquestionably be fire and wolves (or more accurately just any mean dog). Odd mix, I realize.

The wolf thing was a repetetive bad dream I had as a little girl in which wolves were chasing me and threatening to get me. I believe this was precipitated by a combination of having been scratched by a dog when I was only 4 (requiring many many stitches) and having watched a traumatizing episode of Little House on the Prairie when I was little. As anyone will tell you I'm still not a fan of big dogs that jump up on you, nice or otherwise, and have been known to bristle while viewing the scary wolf scene in Beauty and the Beast. However, I have a pretty good sense these days that wolves will not "get me", as it were, if I step outside my door. And I am proud to say I have read many rather riveting versions of Peter and the Wolf to my three-year-old with nary a tear or hastened heart beat. Thank you very much.

Fire, on the other hand, is a little more serious a fear. When I was very little my mother would send me up to my bedroom everyday to take a nap. I vividly remember this (even though this was almost *gulp* 30 or so years ago). I would head upstairs and methodically start gathering all my worldly possessions - my tiny stuffed koala bear, my favorite footie pajamas and my Holly Hobbie blanket. Then I would position myself, with everything that meant the most to me, at the top of the stairs...and wait. Wait for what, one might ask? Why for the fire to start, of course. You know. The fire that would burn down my house while I was taking a nap. :) So, I would sit positioned at the top of the stairs (every day, for at least an hour or two!) staring at the fire alarm installed above the stairway and watch the red light beep - over, and over, and over again. There, I felt safe. Ready to run down to safety when the fire alarm went off.

I'm not sure if this coincided with fire safety lessons in school or if we had been practicing fire drills or running through Stop, Drop, and Roll demonstrations, but the thought of dying in a fire terrified me. Or worse yet, losing my most prized possessions to a fire. To this day that's one of my biggest fears. I'm not sure if it's because I lost my uncle to a fire even before I was lucky enough to know him. Or maybe it's the complete destruction and sheer devastation a fire can cause at will - single-handedly wiping out your home, your every possession, and sometimes even loved ones in a random act of nature you have little to no control over.

I'm not sure where it comes from but I know it terrifies me. If I could build my house out of the stuff they use to construct the black boxes on airplanes, I'd be the first in line at Home Depot to purchase it. The peace of mind that would buy would be priceless.