Daily Mail

The most anxious mother in Britain

We all fret over our children. But Fran’s so petrified for her son’s safety it’s wrecking her life by Fran Benson

- By Fran Benson

My worries were intense, triggering horrific scenarios

This mental ‘catastroph­ising’ is self-feeding

AS I LOOKED at my son Sam’s face grinning back at me from a photo taken in Cornwall last summer, I stifled a sob. My heart was racing. Was that really the last holiday we would spend together before his tragic death?

If we’d known what was coming , would we have savoured the moments more preciously?

I turned the photo to face the wall — I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.

I couldn’t calm myself as images of newspa - per headlines of his death, the funeral and the headteache­r’s eulogy flooded my brain.

But Sam, 12, was not dead. F ar from it. He was very much alive and looking forward to his school language trip to Spain. And, like many parents, I was dreading it. Such fears are common for parents, and it is completely normal to be anxious about your precious offspring going abroad without you.

It becomes a problem, though, when the anxiety becomes so severe that it spills over into other areas of your life or continues for a long period of time, as it was doing with me.

My reaction was so extreme that at times I was convinced I’d signed Sam’s death warrant when I signed the school trip consent form.

From the moment he’d brought the letter home from his Hampshire school last July , explaining that first-year students study either French or Spanish and that they have the chance to go on a language trip in the spring , I’d hoped he’d be put in the French group which involved a visit to Normandy.

This felt much closer to home and, crucially, involved a ferry trip rather than a flight.

I’ve flown many times. But since having children, I’ve become increasing­ly anxious about it. Although we’ve also flown together as a family, the thought of Sam flying without either me or my husband, Ian, beside him sent me into a panic.

Then Sam was allocated Spanish — and with it the trip to the south of the country.

At first I said no. I had a handful of plausible excuses: it was a lot of money (£500); languages weren’t his favourite subject; we had a good holiday planned for France that summer. And, initially, Sam was happy with my reasoning . But when he discovered that his new-found friends at secondary school were going to Spain, not surprising­ly , he wanted to go, too.

On the night before the deadline to apply, last October, I confessed to Ian the real reason for me not wanting to let Sam go. After a long discussion, we agreed to let him take the trip.

The next day I rushed the paperwork and the cheque to school, but back home I was suddenly overcome with fear.

I called Ian, sobbing uncontroll­ably. ‘What if his plane crashes? What if he dies?’ I kept repeating as he tried to calm me.

I was shocked by the intensity of my reaction. And although I felt like I was being irresponsi­ble for putting him in such perceived danger, I kept telling myself that thousands of pupils travel abroad every year and that the school would take good care of him.

After a few days I calmed down. Then, at Christmas, I read that terrorist groups wanted to target British planes and my fears began to escalate again.

These were not vague concerns. My worries were intense and vivid.

Just looking at Sam ’s photo or rememberin­g something funny he’d said would trigger horrific images in my head.

In my calm and rational moments, I knew these thoughts were ridiculous, but at the time they were so distressin­g and believable that my heart would thump so fast I felt it would burst out of my chest.

As the panic grew , I became con - vinced that instead of being dark thoughts, these were actual premonitio­ns. Night after night, I found myself unable to sleep. Being in such a state of high emotion fuelled by adrenaline was exhausting.

I didn’t know it then, but I’ve since been told that these are all physical and psychologi­cal symptoms of an anxiety disorder — something which affects 15 per cent of the population.

Surrey-based clinical psychologi­st Elaine Iljon Foreman, says: ‘ Anxiety disorders are more common than you might think , particular­ly where children are concerned.

‘It’s not that terrible things can ’t happen when a child is travelling, but for a parent with an anxiety disorder such as this, the fear is often dispro - portionate to the risks involved.’

One of the most prevalent symp - toms of this disorder is something known as catastroph­ising, where you envisage the worst- case scenario; in my case, the death of my child.

This can trigger physical reactions such as an increased heart rate, tensed muscles, headaches and nausea.

‘This type of thinking can become a habit,’ continues Elaine, who specialise­s in anxiety disorders. ‘Then, when the anticipate­d disaster doesn’t happen, people start to believe it ’s more likely to happen the next time.

‘It becomes self -feeding, with the anxiety triggering more catastroph­ic thoughts which, in turn, generate more anxiety.’

So extreme was my anxiety that Ian and I took the decision to tell Sam what I was going through and that he would not be able to go on the trip.

I didn’t want him feeling he was the cause of my worries, though, so I explained in some detail that this was an overreacti­on by me rather than the result of any genuine risk to him.

Of course, Sam was disappoint­ed, but he took the news surprising­ly well. So concerned was he for my welfare that I became determined to conquer my fears. I agreed I wouldn’t contact his school to cancel his booking for the April trip straight away, but wait and see how the next few weeks unfolded.

I also made an appointmen­t to see my GP as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I searched for answers on the web and came across the mental health charity Mind’s website.

I soon realised I was in the grip of an anxiety disorder. My doctor agreed and referred me for cognitive behavioura­l therapy (CBT).

Within days of settling back into work in January, I felt a little better.

I searched websites for techniques to deal with intruding thoughts, practised relaxation exercises, took up yoga and scaled back on work commitment­s so that I wasn ’t overloadin­g my schedule.

Then, on January 7, the attack on the offices of the Charlie Hebdo satirical magazine took place in Paris.

With my senses already heightened to the view that the world is a dangerous place, I obsessivel­y read every news report on the unfolding terror scene in France, not least because we had a family holiday to Disneyland Paris booked for the F ebruary half-term. I checked with the Foreign Office whether it was still safe to travel to the French capital (it was); I rang Disneyland Paris and asked if it had increased security (it had).

Then my intrusive thoughts magnified. Now images of all my children being killed ran through my mind (I also have a seven-year-old son and a six-year-old daughter).

The only good thing with this new line of worry was that it distracted me from worrying about Sam ’s forthcomin­g trip to Spain.

We went to Disneyland P aris, and the trip was fun — and, thankfully , uneventful.

The week of our return, I booked a session with a local CBT assessor . Instantly I felt calmer . When I returned home, we paid the final instalment for Sam ’s Spanish trip and told him he could go.

Then, as we entered March, I became more and more tense again.

On the surface I was coping , but secretly, I was consumed by intense negative thoughts. I veered between terror and sadness, convinced that my days with Sam were numbered.

The week before his trip, I had a follow-up telephone call with the assessor who explained I would need face-to-face CBT therapy in order to challenge my skewed thinking — but not until June.

I was devastated. I’d been pinning my hopes on her being able to wave a magic wand to make these thoughts go away before Sam left for Spain.

To make matters worse, Ian had a business trip to Portugal planned for the same week that Sam was away.

In the days leading up to Sam ’s departure, I consciousl­y found myself spending more time with him. W e chatted and watched films; I recorded him playing his favourite tunes on his keyboard. I couldn’t bear the thought of how silent the house would feel if he didn’t come back to play them again.

I tried replacing negative thoughts with positive messages: flying is safe; the teachers would look after him; he’d be supervised at all times. B ut my emotions felt like they were being held together by a spider’s thread.

The morning of his trip, I was due to drive him to school at 2am. I wanted to pause time and not let it move forward to the moment I had to wake him up to go to the school.

Then, before I knew it, there was a hug goodbye and he was on the coach and gone.

Back home I couldn ’t settle. I kept checking Gatwick’s departures website for any news. I kept busy until I saw a tweet from the school to say the group had landed safely.

The elation carried me through the day. But as it ebbed away I fretted about what Sam was doing . Was he safe? News was filtering through of

an attack in a museum in Tunisia. Was it such a big jump to imagine an attack on a language school in Southern Spain?

I filled that longest of weeks with work and went for calming walks in the countrysid­e. I took my younger children out for dinner, I met friends — and I counted the minutes until Sam would be back home again.

There was a sense of anti-climax to his homecoming a week later. There was immense relief, of course. But the part of me that had truly believed something terrible would happen felt stupid. I’d wasted months of time and energy worrying about all this.

Then, 36 hours after Sam landed back in the UK, the Germanwing­s plane crashed in the Alps. I was horrified that families across Europe were experienci­ng the very thing I’d dreaded.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so foolish after all — just incredibly thankful that my boy was home.

Meanwhile, I am waiting for CBT treatment to start so I can get to the root of my anxiety.

After all, one thing is for sure: my children are growing up and will continue to do things where I am unable to protect them, as is the natural order of things.

I just hope the treatment will calm my fears so that next time Sam — and eventually the younger two — can travel abroad without the panics that have blighted this one.

 ?? L E N E TT E I L U J : e r u t c i P ?? Fears: Fran with her eldest child Sam. She is now having CBT therapy
L E N E TT E I L U J : e r u t c i P Fears: Fran with her eldest child Sam. She is now having CBT therapy

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