Not sorry

Mornings.

They are my least favorite time of day. Especially now. Espcecially during the school year. Especially when one of my kids has severe social anxiety. 

There is not much time for dawdling. Even if there were time for it, said kid starts to hyperventilate upon being reminded to get dressed, eat, brush teeth, grab her lunch box. 

It's a difficult start to the day.

We're rarely late, but it happens.

It happens because my kid is in the midst of a crisis, and apologizing for it gets old.

It's gets old because people don't understand. 

Yes, anxiety can look like crappy behavior. It can look like $#!++y parenting. It can look like I'm coddling somebody who needs a good smack upside the head. Like I'm allowing a spoiled kid to dictate when our family leaves the house, when I get to work, when we get to the grocery store. But I'm not. 

If her ankle were sprained, I'd wrap it up for her before we left.

If she had a sore throat I'd stop and give her cough drops.

If she lost her glasses we'd certainly hunt for them before she had a reading test.

If her insulin was off kilter we'd set it straight before we went to school.

If she was puking, we'd stay home. 

And the world would understand why we were late. Nobody would call my kid an @$$h0le. 

Nobody.

I'm not coddling her. I'm really not. I'm trying to shore her up, give her tools, remind her that she's not alone, just so she can get through each day. Days which will likely get harder and harder and she gets older - that's what science tells us. I'm not trying to make things easy, not trying to mow down the path in front of her, I'm just trying to remind her that she's ok. Maybe someday my words will become her inner voice. And if I am late for everything in the world, because she is busy soaking in my truth to her, then so be it.

I'm not sorry.