Yes, I am the mother who judged and dismissed my child’s feelings. I was faced with something I didn’t understand, something I thought was shameful and weak. Even though I grew up with supportive parents, showing our feelings wasn’t something we shared. I just knew that whatever I went through, we just shook it off and kept moving forward. Anxiety isn’t a word my generation grew up with. No one spoke of it as people thought it meant you were insane. Like many others in society, I was ignorant and wasn’t familiar with the vocabulary nor its meaning. The mere word “mental” has been given a negative connotation, so many people suffering from a mental illness feel embarrassed to even admit that they have it.

At the time when her anxiety started, we were dealing with other medical issues which I had initially thought was the cause of her anxiety. When she was 6 years she was diagnosed as having precocious puberty. This is when a child goes through adulthood at an early age. She was sent to an endocrinologist to better assess her condition. The doctor recommended putting an implant to stop her from going through puberty. Before the doctor could insert the implant, my daughter had to get a scan of her brain as part of the process. The doctor reassured me it was just procedural and not to worry. A few days later, I received a call that a mass was found in her brain. We were then sent to a neurosurgeon who reviewed her scans. Soon after we were referred to a neurologist because she developed what seemed to be seizures while sleeping. By this time, her anxiety was in full motion. The doctors knew and saw her episodes but it always seemed to be the least of their worries. Hearing about what would happen during her implant surgery and her brain surgery was a very traumatic experience for my daughter. The doctors talked about what she should and shouldn’t expect and even death. I assumed that taking care of each medical issue would make her panic attacks go away. Boy, was I wrong.

I had very little to no patience with my daughter when she would have an anxiety attack. I would get frustrated and upset that she couldn’t control her own emotions.  She couldn’t figure out her triggers and it would happen anywhere and at any time. The nights were the worst as I am a working mother and she would wake me up at all hours of the night for comfort.  I would become irate and it would make her anxiousness worse.  There was a point where not even her tears would nudge at my heart. I couldn’t take it anymore since nothing I did or told her would ever ease or control her emotions. One night, I heard her crying and praying. She begged and pleaded to God to take her with HIM.  My daughter’s faith is bigger than anyone I have ever met, so I knew something was very wrong. At that very moment, I became aware of the severity of the situation. I came to the realization that I might actually lose her if I didn’t educate myself and help her. Changing my views from one day to the next was easy, but correcting all my mistakes has been challenging. 

As I think back to when it all started, I feel ashamed at my thoughts and feelings. I was an unfit mother who ignored the desperate cries of her daughter. I have since become knowledgeable on mental health and I am able to provide the care my child needs to get her through her everyday activities. I am not going to say everything is perfect, but what I can say is my daughter’s life is much better since I’ve learned to accept her condition. I still get frustrated and lose my patience but I am able to handle it differently than before. My daughter knows she is not alone and she can come to me whenever she needs my support. I wish I could keep her at home with me always, but understand that she has to face life challenges. Now, my biggest and only fear is that someone or something will break her.