My Mental Illness Is Not My Son’s Cross To Bear

When she became unable to endure a simple shopping trip without an anxiety attack her toddler became part of her escape team.

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I’ve suffered from depression and anxiety since I was twenty-two years old and my son was just turning 4.

My very first panic attack was in the airport. I’d flown at least dozens of times over the past two years and by myself at that, for work. One particular time before leaving the office  to catch my flight, I had been feeling a little queasy and shaky. I shook it off and grabbed a donut on the way, thinking it was because I hadn’t eaten breakfast. The closer my boss and I got to the drop off point, the worse my shakiness and overall physical uneasiness had grown. I thought that maybe I was getting sick.

As soon as it came time to board, I was in a full blown panic attack. I had no idea at the time what was happening. I ran to the bathroom and closed a stall door and dialed my physician. Long story short, he explained that what was happening was anxiety and that I would survive it. Needless to say I didn’t get on that plane.

That day started a chain reaction of panic attacks that washed over me daily and, to my thinking, for no particular reason.

I could no longer go to work and grocery shopping was a nightmare. At first, my then-husband would offer to shop for me, but I had read several articles about how you had to push yourself through the anxiety in the moment and so I did.

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One of the first things someone with anxiety disorder and severe panic attacks does is plan an escape route everywhere they go. Whether it be locating the nearest door, mapping out where benches or seating are available, or driving in the far lane so they can turn off and park when necessary.

My escape plan was simple at first. Being a stay-at-home mom at that point meant that my 4-year-old son had to accompany me everywhere. The first time I attempted Wal-Mart I unknowingly brought my son into my anxiety circle. I essentially made him part of my “team”. I taught him that when mommy said she didn’t feel good while shopping, that meant we had to go back to the car. I’d make him repeat this rule at least a few times before ever stepping foot into a store.

Throughout the next several years my son had to adjust to our outings according to how I was feeling. He began to notice my cues that even I wasn’t aware of. Like fanning myself and asking others if it was hot or just me. He did his best to calm me down and looking back now I feel so bad when I think of how often he had to do that. I know I embarrassed him a lot when I would sprint full speed back to the car. Eventually he’d make his way back as well and console me. We missed out on many a movie because I couldn’t stay in the theater.

I found myself saying, “I’m sorry,” to him frequently. He started to not want to leave the house with me and that saddened me but I understood. I wouldn’t have wanted to deal with me either. For the past 5 years I’ve been pretty stable on a new anxiety medication. Now only having to deal with the anxiety portion and avoiding any attacks.

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A couple of months ago I had my very first horrible panic attack in 5 years. It was in a safe place that I’d been to many times with no problem. I ended up in the emergency room for the first time since the airport incident. I was mortified and ashamed. My confidence shattered. That’s when the daily attacks started up again. This time with a vengeance.  I could barely walk into the gas station that I always frequented, without running out. It started affecting my job, my life and my relationship with my son yet again.

Going to the grocery store for food? No way! Just thinking of that in my home brought on major attacks. I started calling my son to come over and go to the store for me. At first he did it with no questions asked. He was just helping his mom. As time went on and I asked him to do this for me over and over, he began to tell me he was busy or that he would do it the next day, which never came. That’s when it dawned on me. I was using my now adult son as a safety net and he was once again part of my “team”.

Recently I shared on social media my struggles and how they were affecting my day to day life and causing major depression most days. I had decided to start exposure therapy on my own and at first it seemed possible but soon became harder and harder. I felt trapped and alone in my own little freaked out world and nobody understood. Most of my friends were and still are very supportive. They are actually the reason I push myself most days. Then came the ones that suggested I let my son help me.

Saying things like:

“He should be taking care of you anyway, he’s an adult now and he can pay you back for all the times you helped him!”

“Ask your son for help! Ask him to go with you when you practice your exposure therapy!”

“Why can’t your son help you? It’s not like you’re asking much of him.”

You know what though? My mental illness is not my son’s cross to bear. That doesn’t mean that he can’t be supportive of me and be there for me at times. It does mean though, that I cannot expect him to continue enabling me. He shouldn’t be expected to run at my beck and call every time I need something from the store or somewhere else. At 18 and soon to be headed to college, there are other things he should be focusing on instead of my anxiety and panic attacks.

He worries about me still. He’s still quick to pick up on my cues and will adjust where he needs to to accommodate me, and while I appreciate that, but it depresses me most days. All through his young life, everything centered around my mental illness. It doesn’t need to continue anymore.

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In all honesty, I don’t think that living and growing up with a parent with mental illness has scarred him, but I do think it’s made a lasting impression on him. I suppose I could take something good away from the past several years that I’ve made him my safe person: He’s learned how to show empathy for others in need. He’s quick to help people out when they are down. My son has become an advocate for happiness for his friends when they are down and out for whatever reason, and those are all great qualities to have.

I have no doubt that if he dates a girl with anxiety or depression, he will be understanding and not judgmental.

So as he leaves the nest over the next couple of weeks to journey out into the world to start his new chapter in life, I just want to say to him: Thank you Jacob for being there for me every time I needed you. Thank you for understanding my emotional ups and downs and trying to help me the best that you could. My anxiety, depression and panic attacks are not your load to carry anymore.

I may need your help from time to time, but I won’t lay my problems at your door like I have in the past. You can move on with your life now. I’ll be OK.

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Photo: Getty Images