I Thought Sharing My Anxiety With My Kids Made Me a Bad Mother. I Was Wrong.

How I learned that sharing my vulnerability could make me stronger.

It was raining outside, and I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my minivan, parked outside of a high school, waiting for my son to finish up with his robotics team meeting.

My three little girls were bouncing around in the backseats, creating a cheerful ruckus that made the van sway slightly with every thump and bump. They weren’t doing anything wrong, but after a few minutes the noise and commotion made my heart rate start to rise. I felt twitchy, and I had the sudden urge to yell, or to jump out of the car, or to drive the car into a brick wall.

Yeah, that’s not healthy.

It became clear to me that my anxiety was getting the best of me, and my inner battle began. It started with my Rational Mom Brain, who, fortunately, was still functioning well enough to be part of the conversation.

Don’t yell at them. They’re not doing anything wrong. They’re having fun. They could be fighting. Just let them be, they’re kids.

And then Anxiety chimed in.

This is ridiculous! You’re cooped up in a car with maniacs! Make it stop! Make it STOP!!!