I hate anxiety.
I know your mother probably told you that ‘hate is a strong word’. She might have even looked disapprovingly when you used it.
But I don’t care.
I know it’s not helpful to hate it, but I do.
I hate my child’s anxiety.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it!
I hate that is stops my child from doing everything she wants to do
I hate that it has stolen big chunks of her childhood.
I hate that it doesn’t respond to logic, or explanation, or reasonable discussion.
I hate that it steals control from her, from me, from us.
I hate that it’s voice is so deafeningly loud that it drowns out everything else.
I hate that because you can’t see it, and because it’s hard to talk about, it is hard for others to understand and that gives it more power.
I hate that is takes control physically at times. I hate that it makes her sick, or not be able to breath, or not be able to move, or see.
I hate that it takes away friendships.
I hate that it labels her as difficult, or annoying, or rude, or badly behaved.
And I hate that I hate it.
I hate that it frustrates me so much and that it makes me angry.
I am angry at the anxiety, not at my child, but sometimes the two get mixed up and I hate it even more for that.
Have you got a child who is dealing with some big emotions?
You are not alone.