The Effects Of Anxiety During The Middle

My dad was getting dressed nice in a collared shirt and slacks. My aunt Keziah was on her way over to watch my brothers and I was going to a friend’s house. Today the court would decide whether or not we live with my mom or dad. I finally understood. My dad loved my mom. He left because he had too, not because he wanted too. I heard him on the phone saying that it is best for him but not for his children. What was good for us was being where there was no abuse. No aggression. I do not blame you, dad. I believe you have changed. And he did.

Unexpectedly, my father called and with an unsteady voice explained, “I had to take your mother to the emergency room, and she is now being admitted to the hospital.” At age 13, this phone call began the most dreadful time of my life. Prior to this event, I was exceedingly dependent on my parents and even struggled with separating from them. In the beginning of my mother’s hospital stay, my familymy parents and two, younger sisters were constantly divided. My father stayed in the hospital with my mother, while my sisters and I would switch between caring family members and friends. Eventually I grew tired of different environments and decided that staying home alone was the far better option. As a result, I appreciate independence and know how to solely maintain a home.

     Due to the fact that my father was now on his own and trying to raise three children (my older brother from my father’s first marriage), he had to take a different position at his work. Although he was getting a raise it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He had to start working the night shift so he could get the raise. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter and because of this new change, I began to lose valuable time with him as well. It was now up to my brother to watch over us at night and make sure we got to bed on time. If there was any trouble or and problems in general, my brother would call my grandmother. For three years my dad worked that job and every night he would stay up after he got home to see us. He would make my sister and I breakfast and make we were off to school on time. This meant the world to me because no matter what he always made time for us.

Although I had no father figure in my early life, I grew up with my mom and my grandparents. I had an extremely loving home where if I got to the protesting part of when a family member wasn't paying attention to me that was enough to get them to attend to me and my needs. This carried me through my life, where my family allowed me to “feel felt” at all times growing up and my general sense of well being in my life has been pretty intact. Of course there were times when the triangle was broken. These times included times like, when my mom got married or when my little brother was born. The connection to my mom was shifting because she suddenly had others to attend to and couldn't always focus on me. This led to some depressed and saddened times for me; I was not longer “feeling felt” by my mom. Luckily for me, these shifts in our relationship leveled out and we reconnected once we both got use to the

Fatigue and two jobs had ruined who both my parents used to be, and I began to value the little time I had with my mother more than ever before. This little time could not make up for the time I spent alone, however, nor could it assuage

All families experience their share of good times and bad times, I can remember so many wonderful times. Obviously, there were bad times, my parents fought a lot of the time too. I can remember being snuggled in bed, dreaming of lollipops and cotton candy gum drops, only to be woken by the sound of faint arguing through the walls; I never did let them know I heard. There were several occasions I can recall being scoped into my mother’s arms and packed into the car, we were running to my grandma’s house. It always went the same way in these situations, we would arrive at my grandma’s, my father would come and speak to my mother, and then we would go home again. I never really understood it; It was my first lesson in adulthood,doing things

My father looked at me quizzically, asking what was wrong with her. I just shook my head. I was afraid if I spoke the words I would burst out crying, which is exactly what I didn’t want to do. This was very unusual for my mom. Everyday we would get home from school and there she would be crocheting or already starting on dinner with a gigantic smile glued to her face. Today, that smile was gone. That great bubbly attitude was gone. All of us knew something was wrong, but I was the only one who actually knew.

In that time, I never really knew what happened. I would always question my mom but she told that he had business to take care of. But one night, I saw my mom crying and I went to comfort her only to see she was holding a picture of my dad. Then, I connected all the pieces together and finally figured it out. I never got to spend time with him since he was always on business trips, and now I never will. After my dad died, my mom changed. She was more controlling over me than ever and hovering me most of the time. I knew why though, she didn’t want to lose me the way she did with dad. That’s why I don’t complain that much because I know inside she still misses him and I do

During those two months out of the summer of 2005, Taylor and I were on a set schedule of who to live with, when we would arrive, and what time we’d be leaving. This time was split up between grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and church friends. Each place completely different from the other, but after so long houses and faces started to blend together and they all became the same thing over and over again. When our separation had hit the one-month mark we were finally allowed to start having visits with our mom. I remember walking into our house for the first time, in what felt like forever to a young kid, and

Having my dad around all the time wasn’t my everyday routine. I’d see him once or twice a week so I wasn’t very much used to see him every day. One day I came home after school and he and my mom were on the balcony talking, the notice I was staring, they both looked at me and called for a family meeting by the tone of their voices I could tell there was

In contrast to my parent’s generation and what I witness growing up, is striking to look back on. My mother’s role was an obviously stereotypical role. She made sure my dad’s dry cleaning was done, coffee was made, and he had what he needed to get to work. During the day she cleaned, did laundry, household errands and finances. She started cooking by 4:30 pm to ensure dinner was ready, and the table was set when my dad walked in at 5:30 pm. After dinner she cleaned the table and dishes as my dad relaxed in front of the television. She got myself and brothers ready for bed and put us to bed by herself. My dad’s role was to simply be the bread winner and back my mother on disciplinary

It didn't help that I faced just as many distractions at home, as my parents began having problems with their relationship. My dad was the type of father who would stand me up on his feet when I was little and dance around the kitchen. A tall, strong, African American man who stood on the couch trapped when my hamster got loose. My dad taught me to cook and walked me to school every morning. Soon enough, he wasn't that person anymore. I came home from school one day and sat at the dining room table ready to do my homework. I desperately tried to focus as my father followed my mother past me through the house. He screamed at her, stopping to tell me to never be like her. I was terrified as I watched him hold each end of my mom’s flip phone and break it in half, throwing it to the ground. That night I couldn't do my homework until after I went shopping with my mom to get herself a new cell phone. Luckily, soon after that my mother and I moved out. We didn't have much so we lived at my aunt’s house, sleeping on the living room floor. I was just happy to finally be able to work in peace.

The huge clouds passed over the sun creating a dull depressing mood that was only made worse by the almost sickening dark maroon interior of the van. As the van continued to glide down the street, my parents began talking about the events of that day. They discussed much information as we drove, but many insignificant topics began to cause my dad to become angry and upset, as he was experiencing extreme anxiety and stress due to our financial situation added onto many other issues at the time. All I remember was the yelling as my dad argued over little, insignificant things that were absolutely irrational. This was the moment I truly realised the that drugs, which were supposed to help my dad’s depression, were causing severe issues that at some times seemed to outweigh the benefits. The antidepressant my dad was taking, had many side effects that can affect the user’s judgement and even create anxiety problems, which is what happened to my dad. Antidepressant drugs can help some people, but not all because of the serious side-effects this type of medication can cause. If medications aren’t the answer, perhaps therapy and counselling could be a better solution.

Usually, whenever I have conversations with my mom they're about school or my siblings so doing this interview that was about her and how she felt about aspects of her life taught me alot. I learned how much my mom has sacrificed for her family and how much being a mother means to her. She informed me that her life isn’t what she thought it would be but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Learning about gender roles and how women are suppose to be in this world from class became more personal to me because my mother is actually living what society says women are suppose to be. In the Women's Lives book the authors state, “One of the most intimate relationships a woman can experience is her relationship with her child” (Etaugh 188). This sentence in the book proved how my mother was describing her love for us and how we were the best things that has happened to her. During our interview, she shared with me that she has never loved anyone like she loves her children and she has never felt love like we love her. Women are suppose to take care of the children, take care of the home, and be a good wife to their husband and my mom is doing all and more. It was surprising to know that my mom doesn’t miss working because while I was young she was always employed and was very independent. Now that she is basically depending on my step dad for the income in the household, it is very weird and interesting to me. Another thing that I learned while interviewing my mother was her thoughts of social class. She shared with me

It was May 17th, 2011, it was a normal school day when my brother and I were told that my mom called to say that she was picking us up early. I was anxious, wondering why we were going home early and breaking our usual routine. When my mom came to get us, the first thing that I noticed was that she didn’t greet us with her usual smile. I was 9 years old, very observant, but not able to sense what was to come. We got into the car, when I asked my mom where we were going hoping