Max walked home from school yesterday, not Macca. He sauntered in brimming with news of his day, but first he said, “I’m sorry about this morning, Mum” and we had a big, warm cuddle. “We have to talk about that later,” I said. “But first, I made you your favourite gingerbread biscuits.” On Mondays, it’s…
The brick wall of parenting (aka ‘fixing myself’)
Years ago I made a couple of appointments for myself with the lovely psychologist who was treating Max’s anxiety. This was a source of great amusement for a few of my friends, but the fact is that I knew that the person who could have the most profound impact on how Max dealt with his fears –…