To help my 8-year-old with his anxiety, we created a 'worry box.' The nightly ritual helps us with our fears.

• My son has been asking me questions that I can't really answer, right before bedtime.
• He's only 8, but already worries about death and safety for our family.

Every night at bedtime, my son, Everest, has questions. Questions that I can't answer.

"What happens when we die? Are you going to die? Why is life so short and death so long?" And always ends with "Will we be safe?"

He is 8 now, and questions like these have spooled out of him for years.

I smooth the hair back from his forehead and I kiss his soft, dumpling cheeks. I promise him that he is safe, and that we will be safe. I do everything in my power to cultivate a home where Everest feels comforted, relaxed, and loved. Still, anxiety gnaws at him.

As a parent, I expected to answer questions about how caterpillars become butterflies and if dinosaurs are faster than cars. And Everest asks those questions, too. But, like a lot of people, his anxiety has been exacerbated by the pandemic, and his focus has turned to the health and well-being of our family. Now, bedtime is more of an existential crisis as my son grapples with mortality and the purpose of life.

We started to write his worries down

Several months ago, a friend who works in mental health suggested that Everest write down his fears and place them inside a "worry box" — this could be any old box, as long as it's reserved for holding his worries. I figured it was worth a shot and added it to the bedtime routine.

First, I needed a container, so I grabbed the colorful cardboard box that once held my roller skates. It's very large, so running out of space is not one of our worries. I pulled sheets from my reporter's notebook and cut the paper into strips. Then I handed my son a pencil. I didn't want Everest to do this alone, so I jotted down my fears too.

Remarkably, it worked. I felt lighter almost instantly, and my son settled into bed. He was asleep before I even tiptoed down the hallway.

It helped both of us, and now we do it every night

Now, this has become our ritual. Every night, we write our worries down. Together, we ceremoniously hold the papers between our hands and say aloud, "I'm giving this worry to the universe because it's too big for me to hold." Occasionally we share them, but sometimes, we keep them private. Finally, we place our papers inside the box, close it up, and go to bed.

I didn't expect the worry box to make such a difference, but it has. The daily ritual offers us time to focus on our feelings, confront our fears, and put words to the things that trouble us. In the process, we give ourselves permission to be unburdened. This practice has also brought us closer, allowing us to calibrate on an emotional level.

I've discovered I benefit from the worry box as much as my child does. Before, I didn't realize how much stress I held about so many things, big and small — COVID, work deadlines, school shootings, family illness, student-loan debt, a break-in of our garage that happened while we slept, the erosion of democracy. Acknowledging the laundry list of my fears gives me better ways to cope.

There's probably an expert out there who will say it's not healthy to unload like this, that our practice doesn't address the root of our anxiety because we are literally boxing it up. But many of our worries are beyond our control; we are simply releasing them.

Stashing our fears in the box creates a separation, even if it's temporary. We give our anxiety someplace to go and give ourselves a clean slate. It is an act of hope, allowing us to rest before a new day begins.