Sometimes I worry that one of our kids has anxiety. I worry that he might be a Nervous Nelly forever. That he might always hold onto the edge of life’s swimming pool, never having the courage to let go, to see what he’s really made of. To see the fun and fear and story-making that happens out there in the middle.

Buuuut then I remember who I was as a little person.

Some of my earliest memories are of kicking and clawing against my kinder teacher when Mum first had the audacity to leave without me. I would have scratched the teacher’s eyeballs out if it had meant Mum would stay. And though my behaviour was that of a rabid animal, I was actually just a completely desperate kid who couldn’t imagine surviving without the comfort of my mum close by.

I spent the entire first YEAR of school sitting at my classroom door during recess and lunchtimes, too scared to leave the sanctuary of my Prep room lest I get lost or someone I didn’t know spoke to me. I’d just sit there and wait for the bell. I can still feel the cool abrasion of that doorway cement on my somewhat smaller bottom. (I also remember an ant biting my bum, clearly sick of the regimented obstacle blocking its path twice daily. The things you remember.)

And just to add to my Bloody Legend status, I’m *fairly* sure I wet my pants more than the average bear too.

I mean, honestly, I was KID GOALS.

If I look back now I’d probably diagnose junior Eliza with some form of anxiety (or shy sook, either way).

That wasn’t done then, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t supported. Because, as I am learning, we don’t need to label a behaviour or a temperament in order to support it. And for kids, some degree of anxiety is pretty normal, it’s a big ol’ world out there.

My parents, though probably a little exasperated by my behaviour, never seemed to make a big deal of my shyness, it was just part of who I was. They probably didn’t sit me down and explain what I was feeling but they did make adjustments to support me. They made sure I got to school early so I wasn’t caught up in the frisson of drop offs that can send an anxious kid over the edge.

They made sure I went to bed on time so I had the opportunity to offload one (or ten) of my neurosis before I slept.

They indulged me in my need to always have the closest bedroom to theirs.

They would pick me up from sleepovers when I couldn’t go through with staying the night, never making me feel like an idiot.

They indulged me in certain things, while staying strong with others (we will get you to school early if it helps, but we will always make you go). They epitomised Brene Brown’s ‘Strong back. Soft front.’

My parents were not perfect, they would’ve been just as clueless as we all are in figuring out how to parent. They would’ve stuffed up numerous times along the way, but, thankfully, that’s not the bits I remember. So I guess on the whole they did a pretty good job of just accepting who we were, trusting that eventually we’d figure ourselves out. I don’t think they ever analysed parenting the way we have a tendency to do now, if they had a tough day they probably just had a glass of cask wine from the fridge and waited for tomorrow.*

In this age of information overload, we are constantly given messages about how to parent best. How to reduce our children’s risk of anxiety, how to build resilience, how to help them be successful. There is research about everything.

But it seems to me that in the trade of parenting, we could use a little less information and a little more leaning into the kid we’ve got. Because as is the law of tradies, no one’s ever seen a model quite like ours!

I’m going off track now though, because what I’m actually trying to say in my rambly way is that the kid you have in front of you has got a story that is mostly still unwritten. Just because they are anxious now doesn’t mean they always will be. Just because they’re defiant now doesn’t mean they always will be. Just because they’re happy now doesn’t mean they always will be.

They have a story that is separate from ours and will no doubt unfold itself beautifully.

Just look at me, I moved whole blocks away from my mum AND I’ve stopped wetting my pants.

(Don’t ask me to go on the trampoline though, obvs.)

Eliza xx

*Only a little bit serious, Mum.

Please note obviously I am no expert, I can hardly remember my kids’ birthdays so don’t take this as actual advice, see a professional if you have concerns about your own kids, goodness knows there is a spectrum of worriers out there!