Anxiety's rage...

Yesterday, was hell on wheels...

After much discussion and strategical planning my husband and I came up with an idea to help our girl get back to school.

She has been so sick and has developed major anxiety issues during this time - although she has always had a tendency to be a little on the skittish side.

So, I woke her up, told her to get dressed and get ready to make an attempt to go to school.  This took some time. There were tears and outbursts.  But I kept on - encouraging her that she would be O.K. that this was something she really needed to do.

She went upstairs and while up there I could hear her beginning to be sick to her stomach.  I go up, hold the bucket for her.  She gets cleaned up, but is teary.  I tell her to keep getting ready.  I give her Gingerale and Gravol.  I tell her to lie down for a while.

I come downstairs and my hubby and I fire e-mail's back and forth.

I make some chicken noodle soup, get out the crackers, go and get her, bring her downstairs to start to eat. Hubby comes home as we had agreed, I need him to help us through this transition.  After a bit, after she has something on her stomach and is keeping it down, hubby tells her she has to go to school.

A volcano of anxiety erupts out of her with screaming rage.  She cries and screams and tells us she cannot do it, she utters dire threats.  It is not what we could ever imagine coming out of our sweet girl's mouth.

We breathe in, look at each other, silently telegraphing messages to one another.  To keep calm. To be reassuring.  To make sure that we do not escalate emotionally right along with her.

She is out of control.

We murmur quiet words to her, continue on. We cannot let anxiety win this battle, conquer our daughter, have her victim to craven fear.

The boots get put on. The coat next.  We stand her gently, upright.  She rages on.

We huddle momentarily in the front hall, the three of us.  Group hug.  I call out the Name, gently, but with deep urgency, spirit deep, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."

She starts heaving, but does not throw up.  Anxiety has the upper hand, but we, my hubby and I, have our hands on it and we are determined to pry it off of her, bit by bit.

"It's going to be O.K.," I tell her.  "This is just you body doing its thing, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, you can do this. We love you."

We open the door to the SUV, help her in.  I buckle her up, all the while keeping up the stream of reassurances.  Hubby gets in the driver's seat.

I close the door.  I have an appointment that is vital so I can not join them on this ride, this journey, brief as it is to school, yet long in anguish.  She howls when she realizes that I am not coming.  Heart-torn, I wave and walk briskly back to the door.

I cannot show her my own anguish for her.  I too, must be brave.  I too, have battles to conquer.

I get the report from hubby later, the drive was harrowing.  He, I think, calmly carries her there with more words of life, words that flow with love and affirmation.

I am so proud of him! 


She makes it through the afternoon, and when I get there to pick her up, she has managed, she has coped.

I am so proud of her too! 


Every day we will take baby steps, all of us.  Every day is a new day.  Every day there are new mercies.

Every day she goes to school and stays for a while, every day she works through her anxiety and her fears - every day, she will grow stronger, develop life skills for coping with the challenges that will inevitably and inexorably appear.  She will also develop more of the compassionate spirit that she already so tenderly shows to others.

No easy task this, but we will make it through. Together.