all aboard the worry brain

Oh, the tantrums these days…

Olen’s tenacious: he decides he wants something and he goes for it full-steam. Until he decides he wants the exact opposite. When his will butts up against any resistance, it curdles into a puddle on the floor with tears and flailing arms. Sometimes I’m at such a loss as to how to handle these big emotions, I just sit down next to him and we ride it out together. Luckily we’re usually at home so these tender moments are ours alone to cherish.

I guess a tantrum isn’t so bad once it’s passed, but the worrying (before, during, after) is what makes it all so hard for me to deal with. I worry that I’m not handling him the right way, worry that I’m not saying the right thing, worry that he won’t trust us, worry that he will be having tantrums forever, worry that he’s got [insert here the name of every mental/physical/emotional disorder I may have ever read a blog post about/heard about on the radio/had a dream about/heard someone maybe mention behind me in line at the grocery store], worry worry worry. It’s so much worry. It hurts my heart. And it’s fucking exhausting.

We took Olen to the train museum last weekend and as we were doing our rounds of the gift shop, I heard a child being taken outside screeching and screaming, a wild doppler-effect as he was carried out through the doors. I breathed out a long, relaxing breath. Relief, not just because it wasn’t my kid — no, I really wouldn’t wish a public tantrum on anyone — but because wow, other totally normal kids make those noises too! My kid’s normal! Hooray!

A few minutes later we re-bundled ourselves in our coats and hats and mittens and walked out to the parking lot. The screechy-screamy toddler was standing on the sidewalk, his mother crouched down next to him. He was still upset, squawking and crying, stomping around.

I wanted to walk over and give her a hug, or maybe a high-five. I’ve been there! Maybe our experiences haven’t been quite that bad, at least not to the level of immediate removal from anywhere (yet), but I felt solidarity with this woman! We’re fighting the fight that is the terrible twos and no matter what, we all win because we are doing it! Our kids are normal, and we are normal — maybe even heroic for slogging through this particular brand of bullshit — and eventually the tantrums will stop, they have to. These are the things I thought, feeling oddly comforted and confident, as I walked by them. She redirected her son’s attention, “Let’s go warm up the car,” she said.

As I passed by I turned and looked at them there, on the sidewalk. My eyes locked with the boy’s and then I had the one thought that swiftly toppled the pedestal upon which I’d put his mother and myself:

There’s something just not right with that kid…

My heart fluttered down into my stomach.

…And if that kid’s not normal…

There it was, the thought that sabotaged every ounce of comfort I’d felt. In a moment my confidence was gone again, flattened by the weight of a snap judgment not based on logic, not based on evidence.

There’s clearly a part of my brain somewhere inside here that tries to make all of life’s little challenges better and easier for me. The comfort-brain whispers confidently in my ear and says just the right thing at the very right time. It fights against the worry-brain every day and without a complete defeat, I’m not sure it ever really wins. Last weekend it definitely lost.

TPS drove us home and I sat in the back seat of our car with Olen, entertaining him so he wouldn’t take the dreaded car nap. For the whole ride, despite “if you’re happy and you know it, tickle-a-neck”, my worry-brain reveled in its triumph, chugging right along, blowing its horn, worry-worrying all the way home.