I hate the Bipolar. I hate the anxiety. I hate what it does to me. I hate how it makes me feel and act. I hate it.
I don’t want this for my girls. I don’t want them to feel a single second of it. And yet, sometimes anxiety does hit Caitlyn.
Monday was one of those nights.
We have been thinking for a long time that Patrice would be really good at gymnastics. And Caitlyn has been dying to learn how to do a cartwheel. The big day finally came Monday. I made preparations last week and Monday we headed off to lessons.
And the anxiety hit. Me–because I managed to forget the paperwork I had so carefully done, at home. Caitlyn–because she didn’t know anyone there and didn’t know what to do when.
Patrice was excited from the get-go, but Caitlyn admitted later that she just wanted to go home. I saw her anxiety. I saw her fear. What I tried not to see was me. I did not want to see Caitlyn immobilized by her emotions. I also saw her bravery. She kept going. She put one foot in front of the other. She worked to find out what she was supposed to be doing and where she was supposed to be. She didn’t give up.
As I saw her go from activity to activity, I saw her nail biting lessen. I saw her paying more and more attention to what was going on around her and less and less attention to what was going on inside of her. And my anxiety decreased.
Once again, I was able to tell myself I am not raising a daughter who will be immobilized by anxiety. I am not raising me.Survive til you Thrive!