My Experiences With Separation Anxiety
- Michael J. Westwood
- Jul 16
- 6 min read
My childhood as an autistic individual presented unique complexities. Undiagnosed until the age of nine, my behaviors were often misconstrued and judged. Fortunately, I was blessed with an incredibly supportive family. Upon receiving my diagnosis of what was then known as Asperger’s, my parents proactively researched and adopted techniques to address the evolving needs brought on by my autism.
A particularly challenging aspect of my formative years involved my mother, a truly remarkable woman who consistently provided unwavering support through my best moments and my most difficult, trying days. Her boundless patience and understanding are something for which I will be eternally grateful. However, from my toddler years into my teens, my mother and I navigated a complex dynamic within our relationship—a dynamic that demanded significant effort and therapy for both of us to overcome.
The Origins of My Separation Anxiety
To understand the roots of my challenges, I interviewed my mother, seeking her insights into my struggles with separation anxiety. When I asked, “When did you notice my separation anxiety begin to develop?” she responded, “When you were a toddler. You were nervous and cried if I wasn’t in your field of sight. The only time you were comfortable was when you were with me or Oma, your maternal grandmother. You would stay with your father, but you would be nervous until I arrived home. You would also stay with your Aunt, my sister, as well.”
My Oma, my maternal grandmother, was my mother’s mother, whom I affectionately called Oma because she was born in Germany and relocated to the United States when she was a young woman. Oma is German for grandmother, and my Oma was a wonderful, hard-working lady who is part of the reason I exist. My mother’s observations were remarkably accurate; I was indeed a nervous wreck as a young boy in her absence. Even if she only left for an hour to go grocery shopping, I would be consumed by fright, manifesting in tears of mental despair at the irrational thought of abandonment or that she would never return. This anxiety manifested in a variety of behaviors, including sobbing, my autistic self-stimulating motor movements (a.k.a. arm-flapping), twirling my hair into small knots, and pulling the twirled hair out, which left me with bald spots on top of my head.
My mother also vividly recalls taking me to a children’s center as a toddler where, if she momentarily left the room, I would keenly observe her peeking in from outside. While this might have seemed endearing in a toddler, as I matured, it escalated into a genuine struggle with separation anxiety. Psychologically, separation anxiety refers to a child’s or adult’s fear of abandonment from home or an attachment figure. While common in infants and typically resolving by age two, it becomes detrimental for both child and parent when it persists beyond this appropriate age, as was the case for my mother and me.
Interestingly, my mother also grappled with her own form of separation anxiety, albeit different from mine. As a protective parent, especially with me being neurodivergent, seeing my distress upon her departure often caused her distress too, leading her to feel compelled to placate my fears.
My Separation Anxiety as a Teen
As I aged, and the separation anxiety stubbornly persisted well beyond two years old, extending into my early teens (12-15 years old), my parents wisely recognized the necessity of therapy. My second interview question to my mother was, “As we dealt with my separation anxiety, which techniques do you recall utilizing to try and make progress with it?” She replied, “We hired the therapy coach to come to our house, and I would have to leave to get you practice. At first, you made a big deal out of it, but then, you got used to it. You would come to the door and cry as I left, and the therapy coach helped us work through it. Another technique was to have you stay at Oma’s house to get you used to not being around me.”
My mother’s recollection is spot on. I distinctly remember the therapy coach. During his initial visit to my home at the time, he instructed my mother and Oma to go grocery shopping without me, leaving me with him and my father to help me acclimate to being separated from my mother. The objective was clear: to demonstrate that I could manage without her for a period, and to reassure my mother that I would eventually be fine, even if initially uncomfortable.
Throughout this period, my mother, ever the caring and understanding parent, would occasionally take me out of high school if she needed to be away for an extended period, leaving me home alone. While her intention was to ensure my comfort, she has since admitted this approach caused some delays in our progress. However, at the time, her concern for my well-being was so profound that she adopted this strategy.
My third interview question for my mother was, “Do you believe the therapy coach that you hired to try to improve that habit made a difference in helping me recognize effective coping strategies?” Her affirmative response was powerful: “Yes, the therapy coach made a difference by making it comfortable for both of us. He made you recognize that I would always come back. He worked with us until we were both comfortable with being separate from each other.”
My mother’s insight is astute. I wholeheartedly agree that the therapy coach was instrumental in guiding both of us through this challenge. It was at this juncture that my separation anxiety began to recede. While progress was painstakingly slow, it was through consistent discipline and mental training that I finally reached a place of comfort and independence.
Strategies and Improvement
My fourth interview question for my mother explored the delicate balance she faced: “Was it difficult for you to balance placating the separation anxiety, as a nurturer, with getting me to work on it so that it was not a barrier in our relationship?” Her response resonated deeply: “Yes, that was very difficult because I would try to be firm, but when you were sad or scared, I gave in and let you have your way. I had to learn not to coddle you. I had to learn to let you be independent and not placate your stress.”
Indeed, my mother is and was an incredibly nurturing parent, almost to a fault. Her immense care meant that at the peak of my separation anxiety, I was coddled. She found it challenging to resist the urge to shield me from learning to be comfortable without her. The strategies ultimately revolved around exposure, meaning my mother had to learn to allow me to do things independently without her intervention—a struggle she faced, given my autism and its associated challenges.
For my part, I had to confront the profound fear of abandonment and cultivate self-reliance. The underlying logic of my separation anxiety was deeply self-focused: if my mother left and never returned, how could I, as an autistic individual, possibly cope? I feared her absence in complex situations or when I needed an advocate in the face of adversity.
Thankfully, those fears have diminished over time, and both my mother and I are in much better places today. This transformation demanded time and dedicated effort from both of us, but we persevered.
Reflection and Suggestions
My fifth and final interview question for my mother offered an opportunity for reflection: “Now that I do not live with separation anxiety anymore, and we can reflect on my challenges with it, do you believe there were ways we could have approached it more effectively, or do you think we handled it as well as we could at the time?” Her response was marked by profound humility: “I think I could have approached it differently.
We should have begun the therapy coaching at home earlier, but we didn’t know how to at the time. We were lucky to have the resources, including a clinician who referred us to the therapy coach, and everyone in your support network was on the same page. You cannot rely just on the therapists; the parents need to put in the effort to figure out effective strategies to work through that, as well as listen to the advice that you’re given. You can look into the resources available where you live, outside of school, to help figure out strategies as well.”
My mother’s candor is striking; she bravely acknowledges her responsibility in delaying my progress with separation anxiety. The invaluable lesson we both learned, and a suggestion I fervently offer to others, is this: overcoming separation anxiety is an arduous journey, potentially spanning years depending on its severity. However, with unwavering effort and consistent practice, it is an entirely attainable goal.
Reflecting on my own journey, while I feel some remorse for my mother’s past guilt, I also feel a sense of justification for my feelings as a youth, knowing she guided me through countless challenging moments. Today, I am immensely proud of myself for conquering that anxiety. As an adult, I now recognize my full capacity for self-sufficiency, even with my neurodivergent challenges.
I know my mother shares this pride, as my progress has granted her the peace of mind that she doesn't need to be constantly present for me to function. To anyone grappling with separation anxiety, I strongly recommend seeking the guidance of a therapist. The longer it persists, the more it hinders a child’s path to independence. If I, an autistic individual, could overcome this formidable challenge, I am confident that others—whether autistic or neurotypical—can achieve the same. My love for my mother has only deepened through these challenges; our relationship has matured, and we remain incredibly close to this day.
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