One of my kids is and always has been anxious. She was born a little anxious, a little unsure, and a little bit skeptical of what she was about to get herself into.
She was usually only comforted by being strapped to my body. She was safe and I could feel her ease and contentment when I held her.
When she became too big to carry, she stayed close, very close. Drop-offs were full of tears. Date nights had a black cloud over them because we knew we’d left a distraught little one bawling at home.
We spent years taking baby steps away from each other so she could spend a full day at school, play a full game of soccer, or spend the day at a friend’s house. Now she’s a teen who’s still unsure of this world, and she still needs to be held, but I’ve learned holding a junior high or high schooler looks a lot different—and is a lot harder—than holding a squirmy toddler.
It’s listening and actively trying to keep my mouth shut.
It’s withholding judgment.
It’s gently checking in.
It’s noticing and buying her favorite dessert.
It’s making her laugh when life is unfunny.
It’s spending hours researching therapists.
And it’s definitely digging deep for a level of patience I didn’t know I had.
I can’t physically hold her anymore, even though there are many days I wish I could. But all the ways I’ve held my girl through the years seem to be paying off.
She’s off in the world needing fewer pep talks, fewer midday texts, shedding fewer tears, and flashing more smiles. I’ll admit, I miss how my daughter always needed me, but I’m certain each step she takes away from me means she’s becoming more comfortable with herself and this world—and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Tracey Connors
I am a mother of three teenage children living outside Boston. I write for fun now that I actually have a little extra time to do things I love.
