My Heart Hurts

We are on Day 4 of a teen mental meltdown and we are exhausted. The tears, the silence, the blind fear gripping her by the ankles, dragging her down. It takes every ounce of strength I have to hold onto her, pull her up and out, back into the light. Her eyes are like those of a gazelle on the Serengeti, flickering from one thing to another, filled with panic. Every muscle in her body is tensed, ready to run from… what exactly? We live in a beautiful place. She goes to a school built on a foundation of mindfulness and compassion. Her grades are all A’s. She applied and got into the best art schools in the country. With scholarships. Every single one.

But the fear rides in like a storm once again. In preschool, I sat for a week outside of a classroom while she wailed and begged to leave. In third grade, her anxiety drove her into such a spin, her temperature would spike and she would be sent home. Together we learned meditations, breathing techniques, energy healing. The kid listens to mind numbingly soothing music, takes more showers than an infectious disease scientist and is practically on a chamomile drip. She’s talked to counselors, therapists, teachers, spirit guides. And yet, here we still are.

Oh, but you should see her when she isn’t pinned under this demon. She is a blinding light of creative joy. Color and whimsy are her languages told through the voices of the characters she creates. Her wit is clever and tinged with wisdom. She is a fierce guardian and soul mate to her brother. She is everything I wanted to be at 18, but more than I could have ever imagined was possible.

Our job as parents is to protect our children from the monsters of the world. But how do you protect them from the monsters that live within? “Tough shit. Go to school,” is what I would have heard. I lived through it and I turned out ok… didn’t I? I mean, besides that little issue I have with not feeling most emotions… yeah, I’m totally fine.

So, I’m left to just hold her while she sobs. Remind her to breathe while repeating that she is stronger than she knows. In for 4. Out for 6. You must fight. You must not let it take you. You are not alone. I am here.

And a nuclear stress test and an echocardiogram later, the doctors are still working out why my chest hurts. Why it is so hard to breathe on some days.

I think I already know.