Today marked the third day in a row that I paid a visit to our counselor's office.
I was only the patient for 1 of those 3 visits.
The other 2 visits were for my daughters.
For a mom, the instinct to protect our children is one of the most basic acts in human nature. From the moment we get the news, the maternal instinct kicks in, and we start basing all of our life choices on what will be best for our child. A not so subtle shift occurs in our point of view - from I'm taking care of "me", to I'm taking care of "we".
And that urge to shelter our babies from harm doesn't end once they made their grand and glorious exit from the womb. Instead, it amps into overdrive as we can no longer protect our babies with our body, because they are now exposed to the world. Suddenly, we see every danger that might harm our child.
At first we try to save them from everything, but over time relax a little as we realize that these little bundles of poop and drool are actually more resilient than we thought. You survive the first cold, first stomach bug, first bump on the head, first fall off the bed, and determine that you might not have to wrap them in bubble wrap after all. And you breathe a small sigh of relief. But you never lose that instinct to protect.
I have felt as though my entire journey of motherhood has been one of waiting. Watching. Worrying. Because for my children, there is a danger that I can not protect them from. Since OCD is genetic, it means that I may have passed that danger on to my children. And so I spent the better part of 5 years looking for signs that I prayed would never appear, but feared they would.
And to my dismay (and guilt), they did.
As I learned more about OCD, and learned that it was a genetic mental illness, as many are, I realized that there was a possibility I would pass this burden on to my future children. And for a brief moment I had to have an inner debate with myself about what that meant.
OCD had spent most of my life torturing me, and I knew how crippling it could be. Did I really want to do that to another human being, or maybe even a few human beings? And I came to the conclusion that yes, I did. Not that I wanted my children to have OCD, but I wanted my children, regardless of what I would be potentially passing on to them. For me, the rewards outweighed the risk.
And so three times I delivered tiny little people into the world, and all three times I breathed a little prayer that God would spare them from the hell that is OCD.
But he didn't. At least, at this point, not for 2 of them.
In the winter of 2016, I noticed that Molly, our oldest was pulling her shirts off over her head, then back on, then off, then on. She said she was worried that the shirt wouldn't come off, and so she was checking to make sure that she would be able to take it off later that night. On and off, on and off. Checking. And my heart sank.
Then she began to struggle in Kindergarten, and I watched her confidence evaporate. I also watched her insist on practicing things over and over that she got wrong, and erase letters if she didn't think they were perfect.
At that time I was about two months into counseling with my current therapist. After a conversation with her over the phone about what I had noticed, and then an intake interview with Molly, she confirmed what I had known deep down. That my baby was going to walk this path with me, a path I would have preferred to travel solo.
And so, Molly started her therapy journey as well.
A year and a half later, in the summer of 2017, I then watched our middle child and youngest daughter, Kenzie, turn a brief moment of having a popcorn hull stuck in her throat, into a full blow I'm-going-to-eat-nothing obsession.
We couldn't get her to eat anything except mashed potatoes and popsicles. She wouldn't even put food into her mouth, let alone chew and swallow. And people, I completely, totally panicked. I mean full on freak out.
Because this, this, was exactly how my OCD had started, with a food phobia and fear of choking. And now my precocious, carefree, fun-loving 4 year old was going through the EXACT SAME THING. It just wasn't fair.
Which was what I said to our therapist over the phone a day later. I had sent her a text message, and on her return phone call she opened with "Well, are you freaking out right now?" Yes. Yes I was. She pointed out that we knew this was a possibility.
"I know. But I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed for her. And I have no idea how I am going to parent 2 children with OCD while trying to deal with it myself." So began Kenzie's therapy journey.
In some future posts I hope to outline some of the exact obsessions and compulsions that the girls have dealt with, and how we have dealt with them, but I think their stories deserve to be told separately. And my purpose in writing this particular blurb is to send a message to parents out there trying to help their children battle a mental illness.
You are NOT alone.
I am right here with you, in the thick, mucky, swampy trenches, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Because friends, this is a war. A war against the chemicals and brain structures that are holding our children's mental health hostage. And we have to help our children fight. If your child is struggling with anxiety, phobias, perfectionism, depression, low self-esteem, trauma, etc. please, please do not just assume it is going to go away.
As a teacher-mom, I am having more and more conversations with parents that go something like this:
I know that admitting that your child needs help is scary. As a mom or dad, we like to think we are capable of meeting every one of our child's needs. But there is no shame in seeking outside help for your child. In fact, it's one of the bravest things you can do, even though it's one of the hardest things you will do. Taking my child to a counselor, admitting that I couldn't help her deal with what she was going through, was tough and humbling. But it's the best decision I have ever made as a parent, the best thing I have ever done for my child, and I have no regrets.
Because in the end, don't we just want what's best for our children? Don't we want to see them happy and thriving, instead of merely surviving? If we saw our child had a physical medical need, wouldn't we do everything possible to get them medical care and treatment?
Of course we would, because we don't want them to suffer.
And mental health should be no different.
