Anxiety and the sleepover

Some of you may remember my summer two years ago (otherwise known as “The Lost Summer“) when our confident, friendly, outgoing daughter morphed into an anxious, angry, isolated child who couldn’t cope with life. It was an awful time for our family, but we learned a lot about anxiety disorder and came out of things with a great therapist and our “old” daughter back.

Well, maybe not entirely back. The thing about anxiety is that it never goes away completely like a head cold or sunburn. Instead, I find that we deal with hurdles put in front of us differently.

In the past, if my daughter had been anxious, I might get frustrated or just tell her “you’ll be fine” and move on with things. But after that summer, I learned that she needs someone who will talk about her feelings, validate them as real, but not let her give in to them.

The way I put it last week: When faced with something “scary” in her eyes, her first response is “flight”—get away from it as fast as she can. Our job as parents is to help her face the anxiety and see that it’s largely something in her head and not truly a scary situation.

In other words: Flight from a burning building? Good! Flight from a hard math test? Not good!

And flight from a sleepover with friends in a safe home with people I trust? Not necessary!

But, when I got her first text at 9:14pm on Wednesday, I knew that she was trying to fly home. “Mom, I’m getting hot. And a little scared” was all she wrote.

I picked up the phone and for almost an hour, we talked. We talked about how I WOULD get her if that is what she wanted, but that I knew that she was going to be okay. That she was not in harm’s way (her therapist’s favorite saying), and that she would be so proud of herself if she got through these feelings. That bedtime is always the hardest time for her. But that her friends would love her whether she stayed or left.

After about 30 minutes, feeling like I was pushing too much, I said “OK, pack up your stuff. I’ll be there in a little while.

No, wait. . .” she quickly said. And then I knew. She wanted to stay but didn’t think she was strong enough to do it.

We hung up shortly afterward, with the understanding that she would text me from the iPad I lent her until she felt like she would be okay. These screen shots capture her words on the left, and my ridiculous “let’s keep things light!” texts on the right. The first two lines of hers are mentioned above. I pick up the typing at 10:01 with some inspirational rap. And the Harry Potter reference is because they were watching the last movie in the series while she typed.

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We stopped typing around 11 or so, but I kept the phone by my bedside, waking frequently to see if there was a text on it.

There wasn’t.

The next morning, we texted again, this time she told me they stayed up talking until 2am, and she was soooooooo tired.

And though I knew she’d be a bear around 4pm that afternoon from exhaustion, I couldn’t have cared less. She did it!

Sleepover: 1

Anxiety: 0

Is there bullying in homeschooling?

I read an interesting article last night called An Unschooled View on Bullying by writer Kate Fridkis. I almost didn’t read it because of the word “unschooled” in the title since I wouldn’t consider us unschoolers, but I was intrigued by the topic of bullying since it’s been on my mind lately.

Is there bullying in homeschooling? And I’m not talking about teasing, which the author readily admits she did. But, as she states, “We were far from perfect. But we were far from cruel. The very overweight girl wasn’t teased for her size. What kind of person would do that?” 

In the six years we’ve been homeschooling, we’ve made a wide range of friends and acquaintances. Sometimes, my kids love the kids they meet, sometimes they would rather not see them again. When we meet a child whose behavior bothers them, we talk about it. This isn’t to say that feelings don’t get hurt: Oh, yes they do. Friendships end and people feel left out of groups—but I wouldn’t call any of this behavior  “cruel” and I certainly wouldn’t call it bullying.

In our large coop, sometimes the girls form loose little groups that hang around together at lunchtime. I remember my oldest telling me that she prefers to play with the group of 10-12 year olds that likes to run around and play, but there is another group of girls that likes to sit and talk about clothes. That made me laugh since I know she is right on the cusp of moving from one group to the next.

Oh, and there is no question she’ll be able to move from one group to the next when she’s ready. These are not “cliques” as I remember them with their “you can’t sit here/play with us/talk to us” rules.

In the six years we’ve been homeschooling, I’ve never seen bullying in any of our circles.

My oldest daughter begins sixth grade in September—middle school. While talking to a good friend who happens to have a daughter the same age as mine, he said, “Be glad she isn’t going to middle school. If you can keep her out of any grades, keep her out of the middle school.” I know all too well what he means. Middle school, though I was never outright “bullied”, was not a good place for me. It was a much worse place for many others who were teased, picked on, and shunned.

But why don’t homeschooled kids bully? Or do they?

Contrary to what many news articles will try to make you believe, these are all normal kids. They love electronics, they play sports or dance or do gymnastics, they hate to clean their room. Most of them give us a hard time over doing schoolwork. They have friends who go to school and friends who don’t. They attend sleepovers, go to summer camp, get asked to parties, and ask for an iPod Touch (already? sigh).

They are not always under the watchful eye of their parents. Yes, most homeschoolers let their kids out of their sight. And many of these kids have access to email and can chat with each other out of earshot of any grownup.

What makes it different? And what lessons can parents of kids in school learn from this?

I’m not suggesting that everyone quit school and homeschool. It’s definitely not the lifestyle for everyone, nor is it even feasible for most families. And I’m certainly not suggesting that my fellow homeschooling parents have some advanced parenting skills or that we are somehow “doing it better”. Believe me, we don’t know what we’re doing either.

But what is it that makes a confident and well-liked 11 year old say “SURE!” without hesitation or irony to a sweet 9 year old’s request for a sleepover, and not roll her eyes and wonder why this little person thinks it’s okay to talk to an older kid? What is it that makes the kids of the devout Christian homeschooling family AND the radical unschooling family get along without incident in our coop? What is it that makes it unthinkable that any kids in our coop would tease the little boy with Down Syndrome, or  laughingly mimic the child whose speech is often impossible to understand (who happens to be my own son)?

There is nothing “better” about homeschooled kids. They are regular kids with regular fears, problems, insecurities, and preferences. And yet, bullying is just not an issue. Why?

 

You never forget your first 10K

Photobucket I took my place at the 10-minute-mile marker in the queue of 7,000+ runners, the last section before “walkers” at the Harvard Pilgrim Finish at the 50 race at Gillette Stadium. I had a lucky bib number: 1999 is the year I was married and also one of my favorite kick-ass Prince songs. Both good omens.

Surprisingly, I found a friend in that massive crowd, and we talked for the 15 minutes or so before the race. She shared a piece of gum which helped me take my mind off the summer heat that was still strong at 6pm.

The starting gun went off–I think. Being so far back, we only assume it went off. But nothing happened as far as I could see ahead of me. After a few minutes, I could see the tiny heads way up there starting to bob with movement. It took me a full eight minutes of walking in a tight crowd to even cross the starting line. Thankfully the chip on our bib numbers started our time only when we crossed the start.

I had my running partner, Jeff Galloway, in my ears as I started that first mile. I passed my kids and husband and tried to look relaxed and not as nervous as I felt.

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See? Not nervous!

After three minutes of running, Jeff’s voice said, “It’s time to walk!” and I faltered. I felt great. Did I really need to walk? Oy, people are going to think I’m the lamest thing ever. But, all around me were people like me—running at a modest pace, or walking, or pushing strollers. And I reminded myself that my entire training had been based on this notion of early walk breaks. And, so I walked those 6o seconds.

The first mile came quickly. The 5K runners veered to the right, and I went to the left with my fellow 10K runners, never for a moment forgetting that I was actually doing this! My first 10K!

Every three minutes, Jeff’s voice prompted me to walk, and around 2 1/2 miles, I was so happy to hear it. It was still so hot, and I began to get scared that I wouldn’t be able to do this. I kept getting passed by people pushing strollers. A guy ahead of me stopped frequently to take photos of the flowers on the roadside. A few people near me looked like they might not make it.

But then I passed the three mile marker and the line in the road that someone had painted “3.1 miles!!!” That’s all it took. One 5K done. Just one more to go.

The route through neighborhoods in Foxboro, MA was so pretty and peaceful. Families stood on their lawns and waved. Kids lined up to high-five us as we passed. A few industrious families promoted their businesses. I remember running past a HUGE inflatable water slide with the words, “RENT ME” on a sign in front and thought, “Oh, I’d really like to go down that slide right now.”

Four miles came and I clapped with a few people around me. This was now my longest race.

When five miles came, I felt great. Only one mile to go, which sounds crazy to me even now, since I clearly remember when “one mile” was so, so long. I could tell the road looked to be sloping a bit down, so I decided to just run that last mile and ignore Jeff.  I think he’d be okay with this.

We must be getting close. Or so I hoped. The air had cooled and I had no idea what time it was. I knew they closed the route at 8pm, but it couldn’t be that late yet, could it? Then, up ahead, I saw race officials directing people to go down a “restricted road”.

I turned down the road and Gillette Stadium appeared up ahead. It literally took my breath away. I fought back tears and swallowed down a lump in my throat. A few people near me cheered. I would have cheered with them but was afraid I would just start bawling my eyes out.

The race finishes at the 50-yard line in Gillette Stadium. We ran through a short dark tunnel, under a giant inflatable football helmet to the finish. For Patriots football fans, this must be holy ground on which to tred. For me, it felt like salvation of a different kind.

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done!

My final time was 1:07 for 6.2 miles. Two days later, I feel great—just a tiny bit sore. But, if I could bottle up that feeling when I crossed the finish line and give everyone a sip, I think I’d have a lot of friends with me at the starting line next year.

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Though I run alone, I couldn’t do it without the support of my family or my friends who have been so, so, so supportive and kind. As I told a couple of them, “(you) seem to believe in me more than I believe in myself sometimes.”