We picked all these items before school started in hopes they would ease my daughter's anxiety about going away to school. And now her dorm room full of crap sits in my dining room, scattered across the floor and table where it was carelessly placed after unloading the SUV. The piles of junk spilled into the living room, the final car load needed a place to be stored. A final piece never left the kitchen where it takes up valuable walking space between the island and the refrigerator. If I don't break soon, it may stay there the entire summer. Probably not…but you never know.
I've raised a highly anxious child for 19 years. I've dealt with a child who was barely able to talk to her teachers, who suffered from ADD, who was severely fearful of the wind and felt anxiety that was blinding and debilitating. She's endured therapists, bad teachers, social workers, psychiatrists, all in the attempt to help her achieve some sort of normalcy, so that she could at some point in her life, live as a functioning adult.
Three weeks before school started, she endured wrist surgery, an injury sustained during Tae Kwon Do testing when she broke several boards at the same time. After x-rays and physical therapy, there was no relief and surgery was the next option. My daughter's first test as a functioning adult would be physical therapy on her own while away at school.
I worried when the first night away ended with an upsetting text and a phone call with my child on the end of the phone line crying, already not liking college, and it was still only Freshman orientation. I could feel the anxiety through the phone.
She wasn't talking to her group, she wasn't speaking to her roommate.
I sighed. It would be soon. She'll get the hang of it.
I helped her through her first physical therapy appointment and held my breath when she went on her own. And each time, it got easier, not just for her but for me as I slowly let go. It could only get better.
I could only hope with a little time, with a little patience and experience my daughter would realize how far she had come. She was for the most part, living on her own, she handled physical therapy like a pro, she even drove herself home on several occasions, making her way through unfamiliar territory. I was proud of the challenges she overcame all the while, the anxiety still present and real. She couldn't see past it.
But it didn't last.
Her roommate was mean. Complained of a weird smell, blamed my child as if she wasn't showering. My kid who took 30 minute showers on a regular basis, began to doubt herself. People would comment about her behind her back while she could hear. The roommate moved out.
It shattered my kid. She never ever had anything quite like this happen to her. My heart broke for her as she called me crying, others in the hallway were making nasty comments.
But she persisted, she didn't give up and continued on with the second semester, reveled in good grades and was invited to the smart kids fraternity.
There was so much to be proud of.
She has severe anxiety and possibly OCD, issues that can hinder if you're not willing to do something about them. She saw a therapist at school to help with the roommate issue, I reminded her several times how far she had come. And in the end, she was willing to make things better, try to overcome the OCD and ADD and make an effort. She joined several clubs and even forced herself to go to meetings.
She started to think about a major, a minor, a possible career. But she still has anxiety. And as much as I want to toss the little chick out of the nest, I can only do it in small increments. She's just not quite ready.
And that's my job. Continual support of my child as she continues to grow and change and adapt. She will always have a home to feel safe in. A place to hide from the world, to soak in as much love as she can in order to face the harsh realities outside the front door.
I have high hopes for next year. She has clubs to join and will be rooming with a good friend who will be attending the college with her in the fall.
It's never easy, but each step is confirmation that we're in the right direction and someday, the little chick will be tossed out without realizing she had been.