My sweet third-born also suffers from anxiety, at the young age of 7 years.
He and I have always had some sort of special connection that I don't share with my other children, and as the years go by, more and more things happen that reinforce this.
Tonight as I sat with him in the bathroom, he - exhaustedly hanging his head in the toilet, just in case, and me - sitting on the floor beside him just being there, he asked me the question. My question.
"Why do I always have to feel not good?"
Then, through tears:
"I just wanted to go to bed tonight. And feel better. So I could go to school tomorrow. Like a normal day."
And now he is fast asleep on my bedroom floor, hugging a bowl, just in case.
Looking way too big for the boy we know him to be, and at the same time, too small.
Way too small to be feeling such big feelings.