By Dr. Lori Butterworth, Child & Adolescent Psychotherapist
I was standing backstage with my daughter just before she stepped onstage as Clara in The Nutcracker. In full costume, she waited in the wings for her cue. I wanted to check in as a caring, supportive mom, so I leaned over and whispered into her ear:
“Are you nervous?”
She looked at me, calm and certain.
“No,” she said. “I’m excited.”
What she said was profound. It reflected confidence earned through practice, commitment, and passion. Her body was buzzing not because something was wrong, but because something mattered.
Lori Butterworth
And yet, in that moment, I almost overrode her wisdom with my own anxious framing. I was close to teaching her that this surge of energy…this feeling that comes before doing something meaningful…should be understood as anxiety.
I should know better. I treat anxiety for a living.
This is how anxiety quietly gets passed down in families. Not because children inherit an “anxious personality,” but because they learn how to interpret their internal experiences from the adults around them.
Anxiety is not a personality trait. It’s a survival system. Long before anxiety showed up as school nerves or social stress, it helped humans stay alive. Anxiety evolved to alert us to potential danger, prepare the body to act, and increase the odds of surviving uncertainty. Without it, we wouldn’t slow down at a cliff’s edge, notice a car speeding toward us, or prepare for challenges that matter.
At its core, anxiety is the body getting ready.
What surprises many people is that anxiety and excitement share the same physical sensations. A racing heart. Butterflies in the stomach. Sweaty palms. A surge of energy. The body doesn’t label these sensations as “bad” or “good.” That meaning comes later, from the story we tell ourselves about what’s happening.
A child about to walk onstage, take a test, or enter a new classroom may feel all of these sensations. In one moment, they might say, “I’m excited.” In another, “I’m nervous.” The body hasn’t changed, only the interpretation has.
Behind the scenes, this process is driven by a small, ancient part of the brain called the amygdala. Its job isn’t to think or analyze; it’s to scan for potential threat and prepare the body to respond. When the amygdala senses uncertainty or importance, it activates the fight, flight, or freeze response. Heart rate increases. Muscles tense. Breathing changes. Attention narrows. This all happens before the thinking part of the brain has weighed in.
Only afterward does the brain interpret what those sensations mean. Is this dangerous, or is this something I care deeply about? For children, that interpretation is shaped largely by their parents’ reactions. When adults respond with alarm or avoidance, children learn that bodily arousal signals danger. When adults respond with calm and curiosity, children learn that arousal can mean readiness.
Anxious parents are often deeply loving parents. They care intensely about their children’s safety and success.
Their nervous systems are quick to notice risk, which can make them attentive and protective. But that same vigilance can unintentionally teach children that their bodies can’t be trusted.
Here’s the paradox: the more we try to protect children from anxiety, the more anxious they often become.
Children build confidence not by feeling calm all the time, but by learning they can feel activated and still do hard things. When parents can say, “That makes sense, your body is getting ready,” instead of “Oh no, you’re anxious,” the story changes. Anxiety becomes information, not a warning of impending danger.
Backstage that day, my daughter didn’t need help naming her feeling. She already understood it. She had worked hard. She loved ballet. Her body was doing exactly what it was meant to do, preparing her to step into something meaningful.
What she needed from me wasn’t reassurance or interpretation. She needed room. Trust. A parent who didn’t rush in to turn readiness into fear.
This is the quiet power parents hold. Not in eliminating anxiety, but in shaping the story around it. When we slow down and resist the urge to label our children’s internal experiences too quickly, we give them something lasting: confidence.
Because anxiety isn’t always a warning sign. Sometimes it’s the feeling that comes right before growth. Right before courage. Right before the curtain rises.
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Lori Butterworth, PsyD, MEd, MA is a child and adolescent psychologist and the founder of the Center for Child and Adolescent Mental Health and Jacob’s Heart Children’s Cancer Support Services. For more information about mental health support for your child and family, contact her at 831-222-0052 or visit CCAMH.org. The Center offers evidence-based youth mental health care and free resources for parents.