Dear Abigail,

My 8-year-old daughter is a delight. She is talented, sociable, and generally thriving. But she is struggling with what appears to be serious and escalating anxiety.

While she has always been nervous about new situations, her behavior has recently shifted from avoidance to shutdown. Whether it is dance, swimming, or piano—activities she genuinely enjoys—she often reaches a breaking point where her shoulders slump, she becomes nonverbal, and she stops participating. Usually this happens when the instructor asks her to do something she views as challenging.

I have tried many different ways to get her back up and moving. But once she has shut down, she is too stubborn to even attempt a task. The only thing that seems to work is moving on to the next task or activity.

This year, the behavior extended to school. She went from being a model student to refusing math homework, and a few months ago, she started disengaging when asked to do some writing. This “freeze” response is now significantly affecting her education. I am feeling overwhelmed and unsure of the best way to support her. I am ready to seek out professional help, but my husband (who is a big fan of your work) does not approve of therapy for children. He believes they only need time and love.

How do we tell the difference between a normal childhood struggle and something that requires professional intervention? And if it is time for professional intervention, how do we choose the right therapist—one who will really help, and challenge her to graduate out of therapy, instead of just validating her feelings? I am very reluctant to consider medication, but might it be a helpful tool—or something to refuse point-blank? If therapy is not the immediate answer, what other strategies can I use? How can I provide a loving, supportive environment while still encouraging my daughter to face challenges independently?

When is it time to give her some tough love?

Sincerely,

Anxious Mama, 47

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Dear Mama,

On the day that the Challenger took off, a teacher wheeled a television cart into the multipurpose room of my elementary school. We’d spent weeks learning about the astronauts.

I had written a report on Judith Resnik, an electrical engineer who was the first Jewish woman in space, and molded a clay bust to go along with it. Most girls were more excited about Christa McAuliffe—poised to become the first teacher in space!—but I could not figure out why space needed a social studies teacher.

We sat “Indian style” in clusters by class on the vinyl floor. A teacher cut the lights. We got quiet. Seconds after takeoff, all the American heroes we’d learned about became a fiery starburst, then nothing.

Somebody flicked the lights back on, and we were ushered quickly back to class. To the best of my recollection, no one offered a word of explanation...