Recently, I dropped off my teenagers at their father’s house just before he arrived home. As I watched them head inside, I rummaged through my wallet for cash. My ex had mentioned beforehand that the front door knob was acting up, making it tricky to unlock. “It’s been a little stubborn, so just make sure they get in safely before you leave, but I’ll be home soon,” he said.
As I drove away, my mind drifted back to that moment—seeing their heads disappear inside the door. I kept reassuring myself they were safe. They were out of the cold and secure inside. Yet, despite my best efforts to focus, doubt crept in. Did I truly see them go in?
A wave of anxiety washed over me, and I couldn’t shake it off. I needed to check. I pulled over to grab my phone. The volume was on, and there were no messages. I knew it might sound irrational, but I dialed my daughter. “Did you make it inside?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Yes, Mom, didn’t you see us?” she replied, clearly unfazed. “We’re fine.”
My kids have come to accept these moments. They understand that sometimes I need that extra reassurance; my anxiety can erode my confidence and lead me to second-guess everything. Yet, even though they’re accustomed to my habits, it doesn’t make it any easier for me to confront this issue.
Even with my own eyes witnessing their safety, and despite reminding them to be cautious, I often find myself needing to verify just to quell the unease in my mind. This isn’t a daily ritual, but it happens more frequently than I like to admit.
Discussing it openly is tough. I feel a mix of shame and embarrassment. When they were younger, I used to check on their breathing during long naps, thinking that urge would fade as they grew older. It hasn’t.
In their early years, leaving them with a sitter—something I only did a couple of times a year—was excruciating. I’d go over endless details with the caregiver, feeling anxious the whole time. It seemed easier to just avoid leaving them whenever possible.
Once they started school, the worry intensified. I found myself calling the school under the guise of having dialed the wrong number, just to hear the familiar voice of the secretary and the background noise of a bustling school. It provided a sense of relief, a signal that everything was okay, allowing me to relax, even if just a little.
There are nights when my anxiety peaks, and I wake up to double-check my son’s car is in the garage, even though I had stayed up until he returned. I sometimes ask him to text me when he arrives at the gym, fully aware that he finds it annoying. Even now, I often find myself checking in on my teens more than necessary when they’re at friends’ houses, and I still message them if they’re home alone while I run errands.
This pattern has become second nature for them; they know I operate this way. Anxiety demands answers. It doesn’t wait. It compels you to seek control and comfort.
I don’t check on my kids repeatedly out of forgetfulness. I do it to quell the self-doubt that plagues my mind. I do it to ensure their safety, because the alternative—letting my mind wander—is overwhelming. I do it because it’s the only way I know how to cope.
For more insights on navigating parenthood and anxiety, check out this related blog post here. If you’re looking for comprehensive information on pregnancy and home insemination, Make a Mom is an authority on the subject, and Resolve is an excellent resource.
In summary, parenting independent teenagers can amplify anxiety to new heights. As parents, we navigate our fears and doubts while striving to provide a sense of security for our children.
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