Parenting, despite anxiety.

I am a Mother. I also have an anxiety disorder. I could say that I am a Mother with anxiety. But I am not. I am a Mother DESPITE my anxiety. My anxiety and I are not friends. We do not work well together. In fact, they hate each other.

Anxious me and rational me are two very different people.  Rational me thinks that calling every hospital in a 50 mile radius because my husband was a half hour late is over kill. Anxious me is just doing what she has to do to get through. And let's face it, we are all just doing what we have to. So I'll call, until I see him pull into my drive way. I'll take my child to the ER because they are breathing just slightly funny and while it's probably just because they have a cold, they could have pneumonia and die in their sleep before I'm awake. And then I'll have to face something that I'll never live through. Something that no amount of anything can fix. I won't survive it. I know me, and I know what I'm capable of handling. Losing a child isn't one of them.

I could tell you that my anxiety makes me less of a Mother, or less of a Wife, but I don't believe that. I often think that it makes me a better Mother, a better Wife. I double check everything in our home for fear of my children getting injured, and not just like any normal parent would, but obsessively. I check doors, things that get hot, the temp in my girls rooms, the weather, and anything else that may injure them through out the night. It takes a toll on me. Sometimes I can't sleep because I worry I forgot something, so I get up and I do it all over again. I worry obsessively about my kids. It's exhausting, it's trying, but do I think it makes me less of a Mother? No. I worry about my Husband in the same way. I worry he is constantly going to run off into the sunset with an easier woman, again, rational me knows he loves me and he's not that kind of man. However, irrational me would rather we do things in order to prevent that from ever happening. So I do my best to put my issues aside and try to be good at it all, without fail. Because in my head, there's no room for failure, ever.

I'd be lying if I said it never interfered with my parenting. Ever had a panic attack in the middle of Walmart? Well, when that happens everything I was going to buy is suddenly unimportant. I leave the cart in the middle of the store, walk straight to the car, and we go home. I manage to disassociate from it when my kids are up, and they need me. I have this way of pulling out of whatever I have to pull out of to do what I have to do, for them. I do my best to stay busy, because if I'm busy with rational thoughts, I have no room for panic. I have no room for mistakes. I don't get to think about what it means that this person is texting me a few words at a time and they probably hate me now. I don't have time to think about how the rash on my childs arm could be some kind of flesh eating bacteria and I have to obsessively hover over it to ensure they are okay. I don't have time for anything but this ballet recital, teaching my twins how to count to ten, or making sure my husband has work clothes and food. I don't have time to worry.

However, my anxiety doesn't care. Because there it is, in the back of my mind, nagging, frustrating, controlling every single horrible thought. So I worry about the car, the kids, the house, the pets, money, the bills, my knee, the faucet, this event, that event, this friend, that family member, and it goes on...and on...and on. I get up, every day, and I be the best possible parent that I can be, despite my anxiety. I love them unconditionally and without fail every single second of every single day, and because of that, I'll stay up all night because one of them is coughing. I'll worry about the big things, and the little things, and the things that don't even matter, and I'll do it while being a Mother. I'll just continue to keep the faith that one day, this won't be so hard. One day, I will worry a healthy amount and nothing more, some day, but not today.