For many, riding shotgun in a car is a simple task, but for me, it’s a different story.
Some of my most vivid memories from childhood involve long, tiring drives to the private school my mother was determined to enroll me in. While my younger siblings occupied the backseat, I sat beside my father, who often unleashed a torrent of worries about our financial situation. His anxiety over the cost of our education sparked numerous arguments between my parents, leaving me feeling utterly distressed. His panicked outbursts filled the car, and I bore them with all the resilience a twelve-year-old could muster.
No matter how I tried to comfort him during those vulnerable moments, my words only seemed to frustrate him further. I didn’t grasp that my father was grappling with something far more complex than just financial stress—he was battling undiagnosed Generalized Anxiety Disorder, a condition that shaped his entire personality.
For years, I viewed my father through a lens of misunderstanding as he navigated life with persistent worry. I was already dealing with the emotional distance of a parent who often sought refuge in his office, avoiding conflict with my mother. Growing up with a mother who faced mental health challenges also brought its own share of trauma, and I felt a deep resentment toward my dad for not being there to protect me.
When the tension in their marriage reached a peak, those car rides became a space for my father to spiral into despair, obsessing over worst-case scenarios like losing everything we had. Even though we were never truly at risk of financial ruin, his irrational fears instilled a lasting dread within me that I still struggle with today.
In my early twenties, my father was finally diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. When he shared this news, I naively dismissed it as a non-issue. I thought his constant worrying stemmed from a misplaced priority on money over family. I was oblivious to the fact that anxiety had a stranglehold on him, and that he loved me fiercely, even if he couldn’t express it.
It wasn’t until I received my own mental health diagnosis that everything shifted. Sitting with my therapist a year ago, I was overwhelmed with emotion as she explained my situation. I had been grappling with self-harm since my teenage years and was now experiencing frequent panic attacks after having my daughter. Just like my father, I had been living with anxiety that coursed through my system, mingling with feelings of shame.
To my shock, I learned that I had been living with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and anxiety for years without realizing it. As the diagnosis sank in, I began to connect the dots back to my childhood traumas.
While the news was initially shattering, it ultimately liberated me. Acknowledging my PTSD pushed me to seek help, even leading me to the emergency room during a particularly dark moment. It opened up conversations with loved ones about my struggles and created a new bond with my father, who encouraged me to pursue therapy similar to what had helped him. We bravely navigated discussions about medication, which I began taking with his support.
Although my father contributed to my feelings of brokenness for much of my life, he has also become a vital part of my healing journey. I admire his resilience as he confronts his disorder. Seeing him acknowledge his struggles motivated me to lean on him during my own darkest times.
Living with anxiety keeps me on edge, always anticipating that something could go wrong, which often taints my happy moments with dread. I now understand that this fear-based existence is what my father has endured for far too long, and it breaks my heart to know he has been trapped by his own mind.
Today, I no longer see my father as an emotionally distant figure but as a complex individual who did the best he could with the resources he had. He has faced immense challenges and continues to learn about his disorder, demonstrating remarkable courage in his healing journey. My empathy for his struggles has deepened, and I finally understand the pain he has lived with.
Anxiety is a genuine mental health issue, often rooted in childhood trauma. It’s empowering to break the cycle of pain and raise my children with the love and support I lacked. I owe much of my progress to my father, who had the courage to seek the love and encouragement he needed, too.
In this journey, if you’re looking for more insights on family living, you can check out resources like Family Living. For pregnancy and home insemination, I recommend exploring the excellent information available at CDC ART. Additionally, you can read more about related experiences in this post at Home Insemination.
Summary: My journey of understanding my father’s anxiety began with my own diagnosis of PTSD and anxiety, revealing the complex layers of our struggles with mental health. Through this experience, I’ve transformed my view of my father from a distant figure to a courageous individual facing his own battles, allowing us to connect on a deeper level.