This afternoon I took my daughter to see her doctor because she’s been sick. Turns out, she has croup 😕 While we were there, I mentioned to the doctor about my daughter’s tendency to worry and be frightened of certain things. She holds onto that worry throughout the day. For example, my husband mentioned something about vacuuming a couple weeks ago and he was planning on doing it one afternoon when our daughter was still at school. She hates the vacuum. Actually, it’s more than “hates;” she screams, shakes, and cries hysterically. Well, just him mentioning it sent her into several hours of worrying over “when is daddy going to vacuum? Not today?” 

Her pediatrician today referred her to a therapist. My daughter isn’t even three years old yet!!!! I don’t want her to have mental health issues. I don’t. I don’t want her to be like me. I don’t want her to start seeing a shrink before she’s even old enough to wipe her own ass. I feel like a failure as her mother. Like I have caused this – either genetically or environmentally. It’s my fault. I’ve failed. 

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