Sitting with the Uncomfortable: Accomodating Versus Supporting a Child managing Anxiety.

A mother sat across from me, exhausted.

“Mornings are the worst,” she said. “It starts the night before. She can’t sleep, she complains of a stomachache, and by the time we get to the morning, she’s in tears. Some days she refuses to get out of the car. Other days I just let her stay home because it feels cruel to force her.”

Her daughter wasn’t defiant. She wasn’t trying to get out of school for fun.

She was anxious.

And like most loving parents, this mom had done what felt natural:
she adjusted mornings, offered comfort, allowed days at home when things felt too overwhelming, and tried to protect her child from discomfort.

But over time, something subtle had happened.

The anxiety hadn’t decreased.

It had grown.

The quiet trap of accommodation

When a child is anxious, their distress is very real.

Their heart races.
Their stomach hurts.
Their thoughts spiral.

As parents, it is almost instinctual to move toward relief:

• letting them stay home “just this once,”

• delaying drop-off,

• staying longer at school to ease the transition,

• reassuring repeatedly that everything will be okay,

• adjusting routines to reduce discomfort.

This is called accommodation.

And in the moment, it works.

The child calms down.
The crisis passes.
Everyone can breathe again.

But anxiety is not just an emotional experience.

It’s also a learning system.

And what the brain begins to learn is this:

“School is something I can’t handle… and I need help to escape it.”

So the next time it shows up, the anxiety comes faster.

Stronger.

More convincing.

Feeding the monster

I often explain anxiety to children (and parents) as a kind of “monster.”

Not to make it silly, but to make it visible.

Every time we:

• allow avoidance,

• help them escape the situation,

• over-reassure,

• or remove the challenge completely,

we are, unintentionally, feeding the monster.

We are teaching it:

“You’re right. School is too big. You can’t handle this.”

And the monster grows.

Not because the parent did anything wrong,
but because the brain is doing exactly what it was designed to do: protect.

Starving the monster (without abandoning your child)

The goal is not to force a child into distress without support.

That’s not helpful.

The goal is:

support without removing the challenge.

In other words:
we don’t take away school,
we help the child learn they can get through it.

This might look like:

• driving them to school even when it’s hard,

• walking them into the building instead of turning around,

• working with staff for a supported transition instead of full avoidance,

• staying calm and steady instead of negotiating out of attendance.

It sounds like:

“I know this feels really hard. I’m right here with you. And I know you can do this.”

That message matters.

Because instead of reinforcing fear, it builds capacity.

The difference between supporting and accommodating

This is where many parents feel stuck.

So here’s a simple way to think about it:

Accommodation says:

“This is too hard. Let me remove it for you.”

Support says:

“This is hard. I’m going to help you face it.”

One reduces anxiety in the moment.

The other reduces anxiety over time.

Why this is so hard for parents

Because loving your child means you don’t want to see them suffer.

And school refusal can look like real suffering.

Tears. Physical symptoms. Panic.

But short-term relief often comes at the cost of long-term resilience.

Children don’t build confidence by avoiding hard things.

They build confidence by experiencing themselves getting through hard things.

What to look for

If you’re not sure whether you’re feeding or starving anxiety, ask yourself:

• Am I helping my child face the fear, or helping them avoid it?

• Is my support increasing their independence, or reinforcing their reliance on me?

• Are we working toward progress, or just reducing distress in the moment?

The long-term goal

The goal is not a child who never feels anxious.

The goal is a child who learns:

“I can feel anxious and still go to school.”

That belief doesn’t come from reassurance alone.

It comes from experience.

From showing up, even when it’s hard.

From discovering:

“I didn’t want to go… and I still made it through.”

Final thought

Anxiety in children is not a sign of failure.

And needing help as a parent does not mean you’re doing it wrong.

In fact, the parents who struggle with this the most are often the most attuned, loving, and responsive.

The shift is not about loving your child less.

It’s about loving them in a way that builds strength, not just relief.

Because the goal isn’t to eliminate the monster entirely.

It’s to help your child realize:

It’s not as powerful as it feels and I can fight it.