I got called out.
“Shouldn’t you of all people understand?!” says Steve.
I should…. but yet I didn’t.
Instead I push. I get angry. I get frustrated. I get annoyed that Benno’s anxiety dictates this family. It decides who we see, how we see them, and if we can see people at all.
I even watch Benno double over in pain. He has an “anxiety spot” at least that is what he has named it. And lately that spot has been in overdrive, but yet I tell him to ignore it, to walk faster, to run even.
Benno’s anxiety has peaked in the last few months and he has had a few episodes that have scared us. He points to his body. He points to the pain. He wants a pill to make it go away. We are lucky he is not really 10 years old, but rather is 50 so he can speak with real eloquence. He is aware that his fears make zero sense. But yet, there is no reasoning with him. He is crippled and won’t do certain activities.
And Steve called me out.
At first I was defensive. “It’s different! I know better than he does. He will be fine if we just get him there.”
And then I realized how ridiculous I sound.
I haven’t been helping. I push. I get angry. I get frustrated with another day of staying in one place as Benno refuses to travel. How I want to see friends. How I need to see friends. How his fears are my need.
“I don’t want to ruin your life mom. I don’t want you to be mad at me. I’ll stay alone by myself.”
Punch in the gut. Benno staying alone?! That is unheard of, but now his anxiety is about me. It is about how disappointed I am in him. How angry I get when he ruins the plans. How upset I am with him.
So-I got called out by him too.
So I am disappointed in myself and holding myself accountable.
How can someone who is going through PTSD and reads all day about anxiety living in the body not understand when their own child is showing symptoms? Nor give the sympathy that others have given to me?
So I got called out and I write to call myself out.
I got you Benno. I do. I get it my love and I’m sorry. We will get through this together.