My mother has been known to say “S/he didn’t lick it off the grass”.  I wonder if I was anxious before The Boy was born.  In moments of complete honesty I know I was anxious as a child, that my nascent anxiety was competing for attention with a young Christopher Reeve as he flew across the big screen.

Parenting a child with anxiety is not easy.  It comes with it’s own unique challenges which are made worse by my own anxiety.

The Boy experiences the world differently, everything feels different.  When he is anxious all of those feelings are bigger, stronger, harder, rougher, sharper, smellier, louder, etc etc

So many of our interactions over the last decade or so, could/would/should have been different when viewed through a lens of “this child is anxious” not “this child is difficult”.

I fought with that “difficult” child so many times, unable to see, accept, understand the fact that the stuff in his head was paralyzing his experience of life.

Last week he told me that it was possible that his subsequent clothes were uncomfortable because he was cross that the first item of clothing hadn’t fit properly.  This is a huge breakthrough for him because until now the blame always lay with the clothes.

I wish I could say that I am always able to set aside my anxiety in order to help him with his.  I haven’t managed that yet, but I am working on it.  I am very aware that when I am anxious he is too.  He didn’t, afterall, lick it off the grass.

I am honest about my anxiety.  I talk about it at the dinner table.  I tell him when I need a breather because I am feeling overwhelmed.  I refuse to allow mental health issues to be a secret in my home because allowing them to remain secret allows them to remain stigmatised.