Looking For Calm

One of the things that I have realized across my short time meditating and trying to be more mindful is that it has the opportunity to create some healthy space between my anxiety and that of our sons. There are moments, however, like earlier this week, that I felt as though our anxieties were bumping up against each other. There was a moment when I literally felt as though I could not breathe, and so rather than lash out, I retreated to a quiet space in the tv room to take a few quiet breaths. I walked away without another strategy. He followed me into the tv room and asked me what I was doing. His dad, who was in the adjacent room, “She is taking a few breaths, why don’t you go and get in the shower? ” I had tried listening to some of his worries, I had suggested  a couple of ideas, and I had even tried to offer advice, “Perhaps you could focus on that at another time and look at what you have to do right now, in this moment.” Trying to reason with a pubescent teenager who has an “activated amygdala” was not working and I was past frazzled. I am aware that my patience is thinner than usual and that my anxiety is more pronounced, and it is in these moments that my anxious child comes on even stronger. I feel that he is trying to gather strength from me in the midst of his angst, when things seem out of control, when he feels powerless, when the story he creates in his head feels unmanageable. He wants a plan in these moments, a plan that I do not yet have because I have not gotten any further than one minute beyond this very second if I am lucky. He wants certainty, “What is the weather going to be like today, should I wear pants or shorts?” “Are you sure that other kids will be wearing shorts, because I do not want to be the only one in shorts.” “Who is picking me up today, you or Dad?” “How do you know that it isn’t going to thunderstorm during my cross country meet?” “I don’t know, but I do know that you will not be running during a thunderstorm.” “Did you pack my swim bag?” “No, that is your job!” He storms off and I can hear him rattling about in the basement looking for a towel, his suit and goggles, talking himself through the steps (Gee, I wonder where he gets this from) and voicing his frustration with me for not having completed the task for him and the minutes before we have to leave for school are ticking away. It is only 7:30, and I feel exhausted-exhausted by the incessant questions, because I do not feel as though I have handled these interactions all that well and because I know we will likely be back here tomorrow or the next day with the same questions, a similar angst and for me a growing sense that I have a long way to go before I have a handle on the anxiety that lives in each of us.