Lately, one of our daughters has been suffering from extreme anxiety. We’ve been in counseling and seeing her pediatrician on a regular basis. I’ve also supplemented my daily reading with a plethora of parenting books and podcasts and today, I wanted to share some resources that have been particularly helpful.
1). It all began with this book my friend, Leslie, recommended. Sissy Goff is a Christian counselor MEd, LPC-MHSP based out of Nashville, TN. She works exclusively with young girls who are suffering from worry, anxiety and/or depression alongside a counselor for boys, David Thomas, LMSW and Melissa Trevathan, MRE who started their practice Daystar Counseling in the 1980s. This is a workbook designed for a parent to work through with their child and it has been an absolutely wonderful resource for our family.
2). This is the companion book to the workbook above, also by Sissy Goff, intended for parents to read as they support their daughter through worry and anxiety. I have underlined half of the book.
3). This is the INCREDIBLE PODCAST that I have been listening to with counselors Sissy, David and Melissa. Each episode is only 20-30 minutes and is PACKED with useful strategies, many of which I have implemented that very same day! Season 4 Episode 7 is specially about worry and anxiety and depression and since it was recorded so recently, it really discusses the effect the pandemic has had on our children. I cannot recommend this entire podcast enough, but particularly this episode! If you do nothing else on this list, listen to this.
4). Season 4 of the Raising Boys and Girls podcast is centered around Sissy’s newest book, Modern Parents, Vintage Values which I have in my reading pile but haven’t started. Everything they discuss in the podcast is right in line with our family’s values so I cannot wait to begin this book!
5). Finally, this is another book co-written by the same three counselors and another in my “to read” pile, by my side as I type.
Philosopher Plato once said, “Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
Happy photos on social media tell only one side of a story- a book with many chapters. My hope is that in sharing a battle our own family is fighting, you will know you are not alone in yours. I hope these resources are as useful to some of you as they have been to us. ❤
These past two months, I have felt like I am trudging through thick, relentless mud.
I haven’t had a lot to write about lately, simply because I haven’t had a nanosecond of extra time, nor an ounce of inspiration.
It’s been really hard and really ugly.
But I am here, writing to celebrate a little crack, a sliver of light that crept through today.
This past March, my youngest, Elizabeth, and I returned to mommy-and-me classes at The Little Gym. They allowed me to stay alongside with her, even though she was beyond the age three limit. They understood the impact the pandemic has had on children everywhere and that separating was more difficult than ever. This Fall, however, it was time for Elizabeth to join the independent three year-old’s class.
Lord knows, I knew this would be an uphill battle. With so many health issues, Elizabeth is more dependent on me than most mother-daughter relationships.
To her, I represent survival.
For her, I want her to experience the joy of independence.
We began in September with us sitting outside of class, watching the others play. Gradually, we made our way into the gym, with her sitting on my lap against the wall. Later, she would do a forward roll a foot away from me and then with bribery, she would run to an obstacle, complete it and run back to me. I attempted to leave the room a few times that first month to no avail; instead, biding my time, sitting inside the room, encouraging her to spend more time off my lap.
Today, for the first time in seven weeks, she completed class with me sitting outside, cheering her on through the picture window. Fifteen minutes in, I announced to the lobby of parents, “Can we just all take a minute here to celebrate this milestone?!” And they clapped and cheered right alongside me.
I have four children and every single one of them has needs, specific to them.
There were so many days that I wanted to throw in the towel but I am a mother.
And mothers walk alongside their children.
Nudging, encouraging, lifting.
Until their children discover the confidence to fly on their own.
Recently, our family has faced some very trying challenges, leaving my husband and I to throw our hands up and wonder how we can possibly get back up and keep going.
It’s been a minute since I’ve ridden my Peloton bike but today, motivated by a friend, I got back on. When this song played, I burst into tears and rode through them, letting the music and lyrics wash over me and plant its wisdom deep within my soul.
Feeling like an outsider?
It’s gonna be alright.
You just gotta hold on tight.
Feel like giving up?
You gotta get up because you’re going to make it through this time.
“It never occurred to me until writing this essay that “normal” father-daughter relationships do not develop over talking in a restaurant.”
And herein lies the value of Language Arts.
It makes me wonder- were others lucky enough to have a teacher challenge them with the hard questions?
What happened to you?
Where is important to you?
Why do you write?
I attended an all-girls boarding school, whereupon 70% of the faculty, including my Language Arts teacher and his wife, lived on campus.
It was late, after dinner, when I witnessed him reading my very personal essay. It was both terrifying and exhilarating to speak my truth.
“My second chance lives with my future children,” I wrote “and their relationship with me and their father. I can use the lessons that I have learned from my family situation as a guide to how I will choose to live mine. For now, I will continue to meet my father on the corner of Shirley and Colley Ave. for some beef with broccoli and a two hour talk about how my life is going.”
I was seventeen.
And 21 years later, that’s exactly what I do.
I use the lessons I learn, through writing, to choose how I live mine.
Her name was Linda Houghten but I called her “Linda Hoe” because I hated her with a passion.
My mom was inherently a saver. As a child, we lived on bare minimums so that my mom could put enough away for a better future. She was the CEO of a software company- a black sheep in a male-dominated industry. She was inspirational. A badass. When business was struggling, she and my step-dad went without paychecks to keep the company afloat but her savings stayed put.
Her scrimping paid off- the business became extremely successful and so was she- a sought-after keynote speaker across the country. So, when she finally had saved enough to redecorate our 80K house, she hired the best.
Enter Linda Houghten.
The woman who wanted to change everything.
Generally, I’m not a vindictive or hateful person. I think carrying hate is more exhausting for the bearer than the target. But if I were to see Linda in person right now, I can’t say I’d give her a hug.
And it’s all because she made our house more beautiful.
My mom’s bedroom looked like a hotel room, so did our living room.
Patterns, slip-covers, window-treatments- the whole works.
I hated it all because it was change.
I’m the kid that cried when our area code changed from 804 to 757. I’m the kid that used to tape plastic containers over the ant hills when it rained because I couldn’t bear to witness their hard word ruined in a flash.
Consistency felt safe. Change felt terrifying.
So when it came to my piano bench? I stood my ground.
She wanted to cover it with a floral material.
My mom could see the hair rising on my back and knew when to fold.
No, the piano that my father had gifted me would not be touched.
Victory was mine.
I’d lost the rest of the house, but I’d won what deeply mattered to me: