Chapter 2: The Quiet Collapse of Daily Life — The Winter of Third Year Junior High

“I might not be able to go to school anymore.” —

I thought that around the time the winter break of Sakura's third year of junior high ended.
It was a time when the tension of upcoming entrance exams was rising.
Even when morning came, Sakura did not come out of her room.

Worried, I went to check on her and found her lying in bed, crying with her voice stifled.

When I asked, “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”, there was no reply.
Sakura said nothing, just staring at me with teary eyes.

I decided not to push her and let her stay home from school that day.
Since it was a time when the effects of COVID were still lingering,
her homeroom teacher also kindly said, “Since the exams are near, please let her rest slowly without pushing her.”

However, even then, I felt deep in my chest, **“This is not just a simple illness.”**

⸻

The day the true nature of her anxiety was put into words

At night, Sakura, having calmed down a little, spoke to me in bits and pieces.

“When I go to school, the buzzing voices and sounds in the classroom sound like they are blaming me. I feel like everyone is speaking ill of me, and my chest gets tight... I can't breathe properly.”

And she also said this:

“In the morning, even when I try to get up, my body feels heavy, like it's sinking into the bed. I feel dizzy and lightheaded, like my feet aren't on the ground. I have no strength.”

Seeing my daughter trying to convey this while crying and shaking, I could only stay by her side.

⸻

A mental clinic with no appointments available, and a local neurology clinic

This is more serious than I thought.
Convinced of this, I kept her home from school starting the next day and called multiple hospitals to try to book an appointment at a mental clinic.

However, everywhere I called, the earliest appointment was over a month away.
I couldn't wait that long.

First, I took her to a local neurology clinic based on her symptoms.
Because she had symptoms of headaches and dizziness, we performed tests including blood work, X-rays, and a stress check.
The test results showed a high stress index, and she was prescribed tranquilizers to take when feeling anxious.
The doctor at the clinic looked at my daughter and said,
“Are you feeling a bit anxious because of the exams? But you know, everyone is the same. You have to be strong and do your best.”
Sakura replied weakly, “Yes...”
Everyone is the same...
You have to do your best...
Those were the things I least wanted said to Sakura right now.
When I contacted the school,

“The private high school entrance exam is coming up next week. Please don't push her, and let her spend time at home while monitoring her condition,”
they gave me those words of grateful consideration.
It was less than a week until the private school exam.
⸻



My anxiety as a mother and small daily effortsDuring the day, Sakura was repeatedly struck by anxiety, and each time, headaches and dizziness occurred.

Her emotional ups and downs were intense, and she was particularly unstable from evening to night.
One moment she would be blank, and the next she would suddenly burst into tears.

Without knowing what triggered it, it felt like something inside her heart was spilling out.
I did everything I could.

During the day, I would take her out for lunch or go for short walks together.
When she was calm, she would show a relieved expression, and her smile would return.
But at night, the anxiety would strike again, and she would wake up many times.
In any case, I made sure not to take my eyes off Sakura.

⸻



“I hate myself like this”One night, Sakura let out a whisper.

“I can't even go to school like it's normal every day. I can't live a normal life. I really hate myself like this. I only cause everyone worry and trouble, and I think I'm a truly useless person. ...I think many times every day that someone like this should just disappear.”

Those words tightened my chest.
“That's not true. You are the most important thing to me, Sakura. You don't have to think that way. Let's just rest for now.”
While saying that, I was screaming in my heart.

Please, I beg you, may Sakura's life not be defeated by this weight —.



That day, I contacted my workplace and said, “Please let me take some time off.”

I might end up quitting. That's fine.
Right now, the most important thing is to be by Sakura's side. There was nothing else.⸻

The private school entrance exam and the two days we supported her as a family

With the private high school entrance exam two days away, I had consulted with her homeroom teacher and my husband many times.

I was very anxious thinking about the day of the exam, but let's respect her own will.

The day before, Sakura said quietly,

“I'll try my best at the private school exam.”

We felt saved by those words.

The exam was over two days, and both days were in a format that ended in the morning.
On the day, my eldest daughter, who is six years older, also took the day off work because she was worried and accompanied her to the venue.
I drove her there, and my eldest daughter accompanied Sakura to the front of the venue.
During that time, I waited in the parking lot the whole time.

So that I could pick her up immediately if anything happened.
Both my eldest daughter and I watched over that time with a prayer-like feeling.

As a result, Sakura successfully passed the private high school entrance exam.
I still cannot forget the smile filled with relief from that time.

“During the interview, my dizziness was so bad I thought I would collapse. But I did my best. I managed to get through it.”
I praised Sakura over and over again for saying that.

I was also filled with gratitude for my eldest daughter.
Thank you so much!
It must have been reassuring for Sakura that her big sister held her hand all the way to the school gate and sent her off kindly.
⸻


The dream of the art department and the decision to take the public school exam

However, the exams were not over.Sakura had the entrance exam for the public high school she had always admired — a school with an art department.

Sakura, who had loved drawing since she was a child, was aiming for the art major at that high school.
Even before the exam, she had visited several times to get evaluations of her sketches, and the high school was aware of Sakura's

intention to take the exam.
However, seeing her unstable physical condition, I was worried, wondering if it might be better to go to the private school...
Her homeroom teacher also said,

“I know you can't push yourself, but if it's the high school Sakura wants to go to, please value her own will.”

In the end, Sakura decided for herself.
With the encouragement of a friend who was aiming for the same high school, she made up her mind again.

⸻
Another exam she decided on and overcame

I, too, can no longer just be worried.

I want her to make a choice that Sakura can be satisfied with, so that she can feel she “gave it her all.”

The first appointment for the mental clinic was still a while away, but until then, I continued to provide all the support I could.
I drove her to and from the public high school exam on both days, and we were able to finish everything safely.

And — as a result, she also passed the public high school exam.

Sakura certainly felt a sense of accomplishment that she had done her best even in this state.

However, even after passing, the instability in her heart did not disappear.

“When I go to school, the stares are scary,” “I feel suffocated,” “My body won't keep up.”

Such voices increased day by day.
⸻
Graduation ceremony, a step toward closure

As a result, Sakura was almost unable to attend school until her junior high graduation.

The desire to go and the reality of not being able to. Sakura had been struggling in between those two.

Even so —
“I want to go to the graduation ceremony, at least.”

The expression on Sakura's face when she said that was filled with determination.

It was her own way of “closure,” wanting to accept the days she couldn't attend instead of blaming them, and to take a step forward to move toward the future.

On the day of the ceremony, I gently held her hand, which was trembling with nervousness.
The back of Sakura, who took deep breaths many times the moment she entered the gymnasium, looked a little more mature.
That figure was certainly looking forward.

Sakura's face, teary-eyed after the ceremony saying “I'm glad I went,”
was proof itself that she had overcome the days up to this point.
“That daily life” has not returned yet.

I hope that she can feel even a little bit of hope during her high school life.
And I hope that someday she can regain that smile.

Such a prayer was quietly lit deep in my chest.
The story moves to the next chapter —
With the beginning of high school life, a new change visited Sakura's daily life.
A heart that continues to sway behind a smile, and anxiety that visits again.

At that time, what was the reality I faced as a mother —.

▼ You can read Chapter 3 here