My mind is awake long before the alarm chimes. I am far from prepared to face another day—the impending doom already settling in. I know I must wake my daughter right away to get us to school and work on time, but as soon as she wakes up, the battles will begin again.

Slowly, I walk to her door, stalling along the way, allowing myself just a few more minutes of peace. I quietly creep into her room, and tears flood my eyes as I see her angelic face, peacefully asleep. Just as I know the day looms in front of me, I know her sense of peace and calm will be wiped away the moment her eyes blink open. For a moment, I stare at her beautiful silhouette, reminding myself how lucky I am to be her mom. She is the sweetest, kindest, funniest person. Sadly, most days her strengths are hidden behind the mask of mental illness.

My daughter has debilitating anxiety. From the moment she wakes up until the moment she falls asleep, her mind and body battle the beast. This has been her life for the past 8 years. As with most mental health issues, the intensity of her anxiety ebbs and flows over time.

For most children, getting ready for the day may not be enjoyable, but it’s a fairly standard event. In our family, there are tears, tantrums, screaming, and begging all before we leave the house at 8 a.m. When she was 7 years old, we were able to manage morning routines with slightly more success. Now, at 12 years old, mornings are all-out hell.

While your child may groggily walk to the kitchen to prepare a bowl of cereal, my daughter cries and begs not to go to school while she eats her breakfast. While your child lazily gets dressed, my daughter cries and yells from the bedroom that nothing fits or the material feels weird. Clothes get put on and pulled off so many times that I lose count. While your child st‌yles their hair or applies makeup, my daughter sees nothing but sadness in the mirror, refusing to put forth the effort to improve her sullen appearance.

Most days, the anxiety takes over as we prepare to walk out the door, leading her to beg and plead to stay home. Nothing I say or do prevents the immense beast from clinging to her every thought.

Related: How to Help Your Child Manage Their Anxiety When You Have Anxiety Too

This chaos is taking place while my husband and I are attempting to prepare ourselves for the workday (he, a high-school administrator; me, a teacher). We no longer enjoy the smell of freshly brewed coffee or the sound of the morning news. Instead, sadness, crying, and frustration engulf our senses.

Our ten-year-old son also is also getting ready. I walk a tightrope between recognizing that my daughter’s challenges are real while trying to shelter him from the hideous routine our family faces each morning. I plaster on a smile when talking with him, encourage him to get ready in our bathroom to avoid his older sister’s meltdowns, and close the door of the guest room, allowing him time on his video games before school, simply to offer some respite from the noise.

On days we convince my daughter to get in the car and head to school, I know that our battles are far from over. Arriving at school just ups the anxiety around actually entering. Having held myself together for the past one-and-a-half hours, the tears now start to fall. (Sadly, I have learned never to apply my makeup prior to drop-off.)

As the clock ticks down to when my workday begins, I do all that I can to help calm my daughter’s mounting fears. Some days, she meets a teacher and walks in immediately, while on others, I spend 20 minutes in the drop-off loop. Then there are the days I have to call my husband for reinforcement and support so that I can make it to work before the students arrive.

Two hours after I wake up, I am safely at work. I know that this is just one hurdle I have managed to stumble over during my day. There will be more. My phone will blow up with messages from both my daughter and her school, expressing either her anxiety or asking what they should do in certain situations.

Evenings may be a bit more relaxed than the morning, but there will be blow-ups and meltdowns as the stress of the school day wanes and the fear of tomorrow rises. We will walk around on eggshells waiting for the anxiety to erupt. I will crawl into bed, exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically, knowing I will wake up in 8 hours and do the whole thing over again.

This is the life of a mother of a child with anxiety-based school refusal. Yes, we are actively helping our daughter. Yes, she regularly sees a therapist and psychiatrist. No, our daughter is not a spoiled brat. She is ill. Trust me, I wish I could simply say, “Calm down. You are fine. Go to school.” It doesn’t work like that.

Fortunately, my daughter’s school finally sees our reality and is actively working to ease her transitions in the morning. After years of searching, we have found an incredible therapist. Everyone reading this with a child who wakes for the day, prepares themselves to head off to school, and leaves the house with little resistance, do not take the simplicity of your morning task lightly. Some of us may never know the ease with which you are blessed.

This post originally appeared on Good Bye Anxiety, Hello Joy.
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