I often find myself plagued by irrational fears. Many parents share a set of common worries—when our children step outside without us, the future, and even the threat of pesky issues like head lice or antibiotic-resistant germs. I didn’t fully grasp the extent of my anxieties until my kids began expressing their own. They voiced typical childhood fears: monsters lurking under beds, spooky shadows in closets, and, for a fun twist, the mysterious sounds of drive-through car washes.
One day, during my attempts to comfort them, my eldest turned the tables and asked, “What are you afraid of, Mommy?” Oh dear.
Had I been candid, I might have said, “Your mom has a few quirks. I’m terrified of clowns and poorly drawn eyebrows. Bridges make me anxious, and I avoid large bodies of water at all costs. If I can’t see the bottom of a lake, count me out. I dread dental appointments, and without the constant teasing from friends and family, I’d probably never go. I even have this irrational fear of weevils in our sugar and grains, which makes me really grateful that I was born in 1979 rather than 100 years earlier—because I also have a thing about horses.”
While recounting this to a group of fellow moms at the playground, they began sharing their own fears. It turned out we were all cut from the same cloth—neurotic, yet united in our worries: flying cockroaches, the NoseFrida, lighting matches, heights, cramped spaces, and those ominous windowless vans. I admitted that I dread putting air in the car tires, convinced that one day I’d overinflate one and face a disastrous explosion. No one laughed; I know they’ve mulled over that scenario too.
Despite the diversity of our fears, there was one overwhelming concern we all shared: the safety of our children.
Once we embrace motherhood, our perspective shifts dramatically. We become hyper-aware of potential dangers, both large and small. Striking a balance between validating our kids’ fears and protecting them from our deepest anxieties becomes a daily challenge. We confront our fears regularly, and some of those concerns are indeed valid.
We harbor fears for our daughters’ safety, worrying about the possibility of sexual assault. Our hearts race for our sons as they venture out into the world, hoping they won’t become another distressing statistic, all while we muster smiles and waves as they leave our sight.
Being a mother means a part of us now exists outside of ourselves—walking, talking, and making their own choices. We can’t help but fear for their well-being, even when we know that growth requires letting go.
In response to my son’s question, I chose not to reveal the truth. He was too young for the heavy stuff like leeches and other dangers, so I shared a story about the time I encountered a spider in our living room. I squashed it with a shoe, only for a swarm of baby spiders to burst forth.
“It’s called a nightmare bomb,” I told him.
His eyes widened in awe. “You are so brave,” he whispered.
“It’s hereditary,” I replied, with a wink.
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In summary, while our fears may vary, the underlying worry for our children unites us all. As mothers, we navigate a world filled with uncertainties, striving to protect our little ones while managing our own anxieties.