Children’s mental health, God, I still get this little twist in my stomach when I say it out loud. I’m sitting here on the couch in my sweaty gym clothes because I meant to work out after the school run and… yeah, three hours later I’m doom-scrolling instead, dog snoring on my feet, leftover pizza box on the coffee table like a sad trophy. That pretty much sums up parenting right now.
Last Tuesday hit me like a truck. My ten-year-old came home, dropped her backpack with that dramatic thud she’s perfected, and just… stared at the wall. Not the “I’m tired” stare, the scary-empty one. I asked what was wrong (twice) and she finally whispered that everybody at school hates her. My brain short-circuited. Like, do I hug her? Google it? Pour wine even though it’s 3:30 p.m.? I did none of the above gracefully. I mumbled something dumb about how kids are mean and she’ll find her people eventually. Real smooth, Mom-of-the-Year material right there.
That Time I Totally Missed the Signs
Look, I’m not proud of this, but for months I chalked her clinginess up to “she’s just sensitive.” Stomach aches every morning before school? Clearly she was faking to stay home and play Roblox (I actually accused her of that once. Still cringe when I think about it). Turns out the poor kid was having panic attacks and I was too buried in work emails and Target runs to notice. Children’s mental health doesn’t always scream—it whispers, then it hides in plain sight.
The pediatrician finally asked the right questions during a checkup and I sat there blinking back tears while my daughter nodded yes to “do you ever feel like you can’t breathe when you’re worried?” I felt like the worst parent alive. Still do some days.
Things That Actually Helped (Eventually)
Therapy was non-negotiable after that. We found a child psychologist who doesn’t talk to her like she’s five, thank God. First session my daughter barely spoke, just drew a black scribble monster that took up the whole page. I almost lost it in the parking lot afterward.
Other stuff we’re trying, in no particular order:
- This feelings chart on the fridge that I printed off Pinterest at 1 a.m. (she rolls her eyes but actually uses it sometimes)
- Cutting Instagram cold turkey for her—she fought me hard but sleeps better now
- “Worry time” where she gets 15 minutes to dump everything on me, then we close the lid (works about 60% of the time, better than zero)
- Me going to my own therapist because surprise, turns out I’m anxious too and she was picking it up like a sponge
I still screw up daily. Yesterday I yelled about wet towels on the bathroom floor right after a big talk about “using our calm voices.” Hypocrite level: expert.
The Guilt is Real, But It’s Not Helpful
American parenting culture is wild—we’re supposed to be room-parenting, side-hustling, serving organic kale and also raising perfectly adjusted humans while the world’s on fire. No wonder children’s mental health is a dumpster fire for so many families. I have to remind myself constantly: progress, not perfection. Some weeks we’re just surviving and that’s okay.
Anyway, if you’re in the trenches too—just know you’re not the only one googling “is my kid okay” at 2 a.m. Start small. Ask the questions even when it’s awkward. Apologize when you mess up (kids respect that more than perfection). And if you need backup, places like CHADD (https://chadd.org/) for ADHD stuff or The Child Mind Institute (https://childmind.org/) have free resources that don’t make you feel like a failure for using them.
