As normal as my children appear and as stable as folks think our life must be, chaos lurks just below the surface. Twelve is a particularly challenging age, and when mild anxiety is thrown into the mix, volitility results. We hold her tight and help her breathe, but often the eruptions spiral upward so quickly that there isn't time to coach. It isn't unusual for this one to scream and declare she hates me, you would think after the numerous repetitions of this that I would become immune, but there is still a strong emotional gut reaction. Somehow it always feels personal, and as much as I know that she will tell me she didn't mean it when we can finally speak rationally, and that bad voice inside says, "You must not be a good mother."
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