A few nights ago, when I was out at a party, a had a conversation with a few people about going to the gym. I explained that one of my major reasons for not going was because I like being married and would rather not get divorced over leaving the house several times a week at bedtime.  And I laughed, of course, but in that ha-ha-serious kind of way.

This is when a guy I had just met piped up and said that he would be incredibly supportive if his wife was going to the gym that often.

I glanced over at my husband sitting at another table enjoying one of the few evenings out we manage to squeeze in as a couple. He had just sat back down after leaving the room for a minute to deal with a call from a distraught seven-year-old who missed us and didn't think he could go to sleep until we got home. He knew that could be one of many phone, and we hadn't even had dinner yet. We almost left because we knew what kind of night was going on at home.

By the time we got home, teenage built-in babysitter extraordinaire Intrepid was at the end of his rope, frustrated because Gutsy just wouldn't go to bed as easily as his three-year-old brother. It wasn't a great night him or Gutsy.  Some go off without a hitch, some are bad. It's a roll of the dice.



This morning, Gutsy was ten minutes late because he wanted to wear shorts on a cold, rainy day in late September. He didn't want to wear one of the three different pairs of pants he could choose from. He was stressed to the point that he locked up: he couldn't get out of bed, kept glancing at the clock knowing he was going to be late for school, crying because his toast was getting cold in the kitchen. Once he did get dressed - which by now had taken 45 minutes - and had eaten his breakfast, he didn't want to wear the appropriate rain gear, which then had to be shoved into his school bag so he could wear his shoes and sweater.

And then, of course, he complained about his heavy bag. But Geekster and I took a collective deep breath and kept silent.

Why? Because we pick our battles, that's why. Doing this made him only 10 minutes late for school instead of 40 or 50.  It saved Gutsy from feeling even worse about how he behaved this morning, becaus we know he can't help it. It saved his dad and I getting stressed to the point of snapping at each other. It saved Spawnling from waking up to a house filled with the screams of his seven-year-old brother.

Basically, it saved our morning from going from bad to completely shitteous.

This is life with an anxious child. Stressful, overwhelming, heartbreaking.


Like a lot of kids with special needs of various types, Gutsy has good days and bad days. I watch him a lot on those good days as he smiles and laughs and flows through the day like a typical child would, wanting to bottle up his essence and save it for the harder days. Because when those days hit - oh, when those dark, unpredictable, incredible sad days hit - I wish I had some happiness and peace of mind to give him. I hug him and tell him it's okay, that we love him and always will, that I'm sorry he's having a hard day. Geekster does more of the same. He can calm him down much faster than I can. I'm still learning how to be a better mom to Gutsy.

Late at night, Geekster and I talk about the hard things:

"How do we help him?"

"Is he going to be able to overcome this?"

"What are we doing wrong? What can we do better?"

"How will he function as an adult with such crippling anxiety?"

I have to believe this is going to get better. I have to believe that my son who has not only anxiety but hearing loss and very likely giftedness (a word I used to shun but am now taking more seriously for his sake) to contend with, is going to grow into himself as he matures. He has so much on his plate that it's no wonder he struggles.  Frankly, the fact that he has good days is a big step.

He is making steady progress in balancing his moods and dealing with his anxiety. More importantly, he's learned to talk about how he's feeling. He explains to the best of his ability what is going on in his head and his heart. It's hard to hear, but it's important we do. Only when you hear him explain it can you understand why morning and bedtime can be a struggle, why he thrives on routine, why he hates himself for losing his cool the way he does. Underneath the stress and worry, he is sweet and thoughtful and kind. I love my Gutsy so much. I'm so proud to be Gutsy's mom.


I met with his teacher last Friday and gave her an overview of the obstacles he faces. I told her that homework can be a real challenge when he's having an off day, so she has now left that open to doing as much or as little as he can manage without any pressure from her. This will improve our home life more than she will ever know. I'm so glad he has a teacher who gets it.

When the guy at the table said what he said about the gym, I replied by saying that I have everything I need at home: a treadmill, weights, a yoga mat. He asked "Yes, but do you have the motivation?"

"Not right now, no," was all I could muster. What I wanted to say was "No, I'm totally fucking exhausted most of the time just dealing with my day-to-day. But I'll find motivation again soon. And frankly, this is all I have right now, so it will have to be enough."

I don't expect people to get it. I don't expect that they'll understand when I say I can't go out again because I was already out a couple of times this week and it's hard on my family for me to leave like that.  If you have typical kids who don't freak out on a regular basis over small things like changes in routine, then you're going to think my husband is a useless twit who can't do things on his own. What you're not seeing is that handling those tantrums alone with two other kids in the house, is beyond exhausting. And to ask him to potentially do that several times a week is not something I'm prepared to do. For him, for our marriage, for our kids, and ultimately for me, because I love my family.

But it will get better. Gutsy is more aware of himself every day and is making changes. He's resuming therapy in a couple of weeks, and we have excellent support from the school.

It will get better. But you will not see me at the gym anytime soon.