What Makes My Kids Cry Today

I wish I could explain how heavy my chest feels just seeing the entrance to the interstate.

Not even the traffic.

Not even the speed.

Just… knowing it’s not a straight shot.

Knowing there will be turns. Merges. Overpasses. Unexpected curves. Too many exits. Too many decisions in motion.

Sometimes I slow down so much I feel like I’m holding up the world.

Sometimes I hyperventilate.

Sometimes I cry.

And sometimes… I have to pull over, because my body says, “No further.”

And my kids are watching.

That’s the part that breaks me.

I see them in the rearview mirror.

Wide-eyed. Silent.

Not scared of the road — but scared of me.

Scared because I’m scared.

And I know — I know — I can’t keep doing that.

When Panic Becomes a Passenger

People say “just breathe” or “just trust God,” and while I believe in prayer and breathing and calm…

none of those things feel automatic when your chest tightens and your hands go cold at 70 mph.

This isn’t about logic.

It’s about fear.

Fear that I’ll freeze.

Fear that I’ll crash.

Fear that I’m not safe to trust myself — and yet I have to keep going because I have these little ones watching me from the back seat.

I Don’t Want My Kids to Inherit My Panic

I don’t want them to think fear is how we respond to challenge.

I don’t want them to believe that tears mean we’re done.

I don’t want them to internalize my anxiety as their own.

I want them to feel held — even if I’m shaking.

So I’ve started doing something that feels both small and radical:

I speak out loud, even if it sounds silly. “Okay, we’re going over this bridge. It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re safe.” I slow down, but I don’t shut down. I tell them, “Mommy’s a little anxious right now, but I’m taking deep breaths and doing my best.”

Not to put it on them — but to show them it’s okay to struggle and still move forward.

This Is My Real Talk

I’m not writing this for advice.

I’m not asking for tips.

I’m just saying: this is where I am right now.

Behind the wheel, on edge, trying to stay steady for the ones who trust me most.

I don’t have a pretty ending. But I have this:

I keep showing up. I keep getting behind the wheel. And every time I do, I get one step closer to being the kind of calm I want my kids to remember.

Even if the road isn’t straight.

Even if I’m not either.

—Have you ever had a moment where anxiety caught you off guard in a place where you had to hold it together? Especially for your kids? You’re not alone. Feel free to share — or just sit with this knowing someone else gets it.