I wanted to sleep with a bat under my pillow. It was plastic; nonetheless, it was a weapon. I was five years old, and I firmly believed that each night when I went to sleep, a robber would break into the house. I needed something to defend myself (and maybe my family), and my brother’s yellow Wiffle ball bat seemed ideal. Unfortunately, my parents never complied with my request.
They didn’t understand why I was so worried. After all, there was no logical evidence to support my anxiety: our neighborhood was safe, we had never experienced a break-in, and we had a security alarm to alert us of any danger. But who said anxiety was logical? It’s generally not. Actually, let’s back up. Who said what I was experiencing was “anxiety”?
Anxiety is a word that I use now, based on personal and professional hindsight. Back then, as far as my parents and I were concerned, I was simply prone to a bit of extra worry. None of us understood that my fearful thoughts were actually provoking a real nervous system response.
So how did my loving parents deal with my countless “what if” questions? “What if we get robbed?” “What if we forget to turn the alarm on?” “What if we leave the door unlocked?” “What if the robber finds my room?” How did they handle it when I knocked on their door at two o’clock in the morning, asking to go downstairs to check the lock once more for good measure?