My 10-year old son has autism. And we give him anti-anxiety medicine every day.
If someone had told me fifteen years ago—back when I was a smart, chic, kind of fit twenty-something newlywed—that my new husband Joe and I would one day give our child a tiny white pill every night, well, I might have laughed.
I mean, people who medicate their children are lazy. Everyone knows that.
They turn to pills and syrupy liquids because they don’t feel like trying anything else first.
We live in a society that is dependent on pharmaceuticals, and parents who give their kids medicine are one more step in the pill-popping downfall of our culture.
It is the easy way out.
Well, I can tell you that it wasn’t easy. But it was a way out.
Here is what I know about anxiety: it is interruption and interference. It is intrusion.
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