[Insert quirky, yet brilliant title here]

Yes, I’ve been putting off blogging this largely because I can’t think of a decent title. When I was writing fanfiction, I was that way, too – couldn’t start word ONE of a story without a title that made me smile. This could actually say more about me than I’m ready to say.

Which is actually a good segue into this post. I originally wanted to talk about how 2010 and I are starting off on the right foot, even though my last post was snarky and entitled. Truth is, I’ve put some effort into 2010 so far – teaching myself to knit, hooking up with a health coach through my husband’s insurance, heading out to my first volunteer job with The American Red Cross, and, starting next week, seeing a therapist to get some of these “issues” I’ve been carting around for 10 years out of the present and into the past. But, there. I just talked about those things, so now it’s time to say, 2010 – I’m feeling a kink in the link here and it’s only February.

The kink has a name. Her name is Anxiety.

We all have it in some fashion. Some of us deal with it gracefully, some of us seem almost propelled by its presence in our lives. I remember having some anxieties as a kid and I remember being embarrassed by them. One was fire. I don’t know from whence it came, but I do remember in maybe 2nd grade, sitting in our gymnasium watching a fire prevention movie with the entire school. I completely freaked, ran out, ignored the mean teacher telling me to SIT BACK DOWN!!! (there always is one, isn’t there?) and went to the office where I found my previous year’s teacher, curled up to her and calmed my little 7 yr. old body down.

I remember having anxiety over people being sick to their stomachs anywhere in my presence. That one has never gone away, or really improved all that much. If my kids became ill, husband had to come home and take care of them. There were even days when they were younger where if the kids only ACTED like they might be ill, I needed hubby to be home just in case. Fortunately, he always could be, but still, as a mom, it’s a horrible feeling knowing you have to run away from your sick kid.

My mother struggled with the same, going downstairs to sleep when I had the stomach flu. Daddy would care for me, curl up in bed with me and I never wanted for attention. I never resented Mom’s inability to handle such a health crisis, but I still secretly wonder if my kids resent mine. Strep, colds, respiratory illness, broken limbs, etc. I can handle just fine. I even do blood okay. But start bringing up the contents of your stomach and I’m out of there and off to another corner of the house having an anxiety attack. Tremors, hot flashes, upset stomach…it’s awful. And, it’s embarrassing.

My daughter never really showed much on the anxiety trail until she had to start speaking in front of classmates at school for projects. We both believe there is one particular teacher to blame, but blaming her doesn’t calm Abby’s paralyzation with public speaking. She is also a skin picker, which we just marked up as a habit, but later have come to see it’s a symptom of anxiety. Driving is her most hated activity because of anxiety. I hate it for her. And yes, smart or not, I feel responsible for it. It’s the Mom thing to do, I suppose.

My boy always was a little high strung. At first it was loud noises that would freak him out, even as an infant. Bless him. When he got older, it was bad weather. Dark clouds, burgeoning winds and the word “warning” coming from a newscaster’s lips sent him into a dither of epic proportions. His first time reading aloud to us was when he was 4 and looking over the weather forecast in the newspaper. I do believe “thunderstorm” was the first word he read. No time for this “Dick and Jane” garbage. But, it comforted him to be able to follow the weatherman, see what was going to happen, even if the predictions weren’t always 100% accurate. He still freaks out when a bad storm approaches, but he’s better.

He’s added to his anxiety now though to the point where I’m confused. He has given me permission to write of this, btw, as have my daughter and mother. During Christmas break, Hubby took the kids to see Avatar. All was well, until about 10 minutes to the end. Ethan had a fight or flight sensation like never before and fled from the theater. Alex followed and in short form, Ethan ended up in an emergency squad outside of the theater receiving oxygen and being monitored by the paramedics.

He’d had a full blown panic attack. He knew he was going to die. Nothing could calm him. He was scared for his life.

In time, he did settle and the paramedics talked about panic, ensuring that no, nothing was physically wrong with him, but that anxiety had taken over, making adrenaline take over, making common sense disappear into the air of Pandora. He was a bit skittish the rest of the night, but after that one event, he seemed to settle. Another one hit about a week and a half ago and it’s been cycling ever since. We know how to handle them now without the use of a medical team, and he’s spoken to his guidance counselor, our family doctor, etc. for coping skills, but damn.

My boy. My sweet, sweet boy. 15 is hard. It’s harder now than it was when I was 15, no doubt about it. I mean, yeah, we had to hand write our papers, or worse, type them on manual typewriters, but really – that’s inconvenience, not societal pressure. Are all 15 yr. olds under pressure? No, probably not. Do I feel like I pressure him? No, unless I fear he has an upset stomach and then I’d make the calmest of beasts ready to blow.

Specifically, Ethan’s 15 has been hard. His mother was a cloud of grief for a year and about the point when that cloud lifted, his grandmother became ill, eventually passing away. He and his grandma were buddies. She was not an affectionate woman, unless it related to Ethan. He didn’t particularly like being pampered and babied, but if grandma did it, all was right with the world. Her loss was big.

While Grandma was sick, his sister moved out. They too, are buddies. I love hearing them talk about games and TV shows in the other room while I’m minding my own business eavesdropping on their sweet friendship. Her opinion matters to him. It has since the day he realized someone else was in the room besides me. And her constant presence is no more – another loss for him.

He’s finding his way, figuring out who he is, feeling pressure (from school, NOT us that’s for sure) to decide what he wants to do with his life, feeling out different things to see what fits him best. He has a passion for rock music, an appreciation of what goes into making it, that I don’t see in many teens. He’s an amazing gamer, a compassionate friend, a smart young man flailing about trying to find his terra firma.

No, in the grand scheme of life, these aren’t odd events or situations – they happen to everyone. It’s not cancer. It’s not parental death. It’s not drug or alcohol abuse, or sexual promiscuity. It’s not a myriad of other things that weigh down so many kids today. But, now, the anxiety itself is a weight on him. Not just a response, but an actual issue. It aches me. I can’t fix it on my own. I probably bring more anxiety to the scene anyway, although when he is upset, he seems to come to me for comfort. We count, we breathe, sometimes we read and play a Star Wars Trivia book. (For the record, if ANYONE can do well with that book, you are officially the nerdiest of nerdy nerds.) Then, he settles and I pretend to go about my business.

Truth? That’s when my anxiety starts. It’s a cycle I don’t like. It’s a cycle I want stopped. It’s a cycle that will hopefully stop soon. Yes, we’re getting some outside help. We go next week and I’m both excited and yes…anxious. Writing this post is making me a bit anxious – it’s not a positive bent to my wonderful family. But, it’s our life now. I guess I felt the need to put it out there.

So, I have to ask you. What makes you anxious? What makes the heart race, the skin flush, the tremors to tremble? Do you think it’s fear? Insecurity? Good old uncertainty? And even more importantly, how do you handle it? What calms, comforts, steadies?

I’d love to hear your stories. Maybe, if the ground shakes, by hanging onto each other we won’t tumble as hard.