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As my suntanned foot slowly edged its way to the dusty accelerator, I could feel his body tense. My hands firmly gripped the steering wheel as I began the right-hand turn. I glanced toward the passenger seat, my insides in knots while trying to maintain a calm outer appearance. There, my adult son, my gentle giant, sat silently wringing his hands. His face twitching, his lips pursed, and his cheeks slightly flushed. My heart broke. He was trying to calm his body, but he was losing the battle. I reached for his sizeable clammy hand. He reluctantly stopped the rhythmic squeezing of his fingers to cling to mine, a lifeline in an unrelenting storm. Anxiety is a ruthless foe; a persistent antagonist that threatens to deprive the victim of all joy. I could see the amount of energy my son was expending. It was exhausting, for both of us. He, for the toll this was taking on his mind, body, and spirit. Me, for the pain it was causing my son. It seemed so unfair that he should be subjected to yet another challenge. Another struggle. Mama bear was ready to do battle, to face the adversary. But the devious opponent had not come for me. It had come for my son.
We drove in silence. Each of us battling our own demons in the oppressive summer heat. Little beads of perspiration began to emerge and mix with the curls on my forehead. I brushed the slightly dampened tendrils from my brow, slowed the car to a stop, and turned to look into his beautiful blue eyes.
“It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
He closed his eyes. His breathing slow and measured as he tried to attack the opponent from another angle. His fatigue was evident. I attempted to help him change his focus. What brings him back from the dark and terrifying pit of anxiety changes day to day. The weapons in our arsenal continue to multiply, but despite our best efforts, we have not yet been able to vanquish the enemy.
The chaos, fear, and isolation caused by the pandemic have been challenging for everyone. More than a year after the initial lockdown, many are beginning to emerge from the turmoil and return to a more normal way of life. For those who struggle with anxiety, the difficulty is more pronounced, the wounds are deep. They continue to battle this internal foe while desperately trying to find their way back to a happier, more secure, and less frightening place.
I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, took a deep breath, and softly began to speak the comforting words that have seen us through many troubling times.
“We are . . . “
“. . . a team,” he finished.
“You are never . . . “
“. . . alone”, he sighed.
“I love you . . . “
“. . . no matter what”, he whispered.
Copyright Linda Seiford, Ph.D.
