I have my fair share of quirky fears. As parents, we often find ourselves united by a collection of shared worries. We fret when our kids venture out into the world without us. We dread the unknowns of the future, the threat of urinary tract infections, head lice, and those pesky antibiotic-resistant germs. I never fully grasped the extent of my anxieties until my kids began expressing their own. Their fears, as expected, were classic kiddo concerns: monsters lurking under the bed, spooky shadows in the closet, and, just for fun, the terrifying experience of drive-through car washes.
In one of my many attempts to reassure them, my eldest asked, “What are you scared of, Mommy?” Cue the panic.
If I had been completely honest, I would have divulged, “Well, my dear, your mother is a bit of a basket case. I have a fear of clowns and poorly drawn eyebrows. I get jittery when I cross bridges, I avoid large bodies of water, and if I can’t see the bottom of a lake, forget it! I have a dental phobia that would keep me from ever visiting the dentist if it weren’t for my friends and family teasing me. And don’t get me started on my fear of weevils in my sugar and grain bags—I’m so thankful to be living in the 21st century and not during the horse-and-buggy days.”
While sharing this with a circle of moms at the park, I was met with a chorus of their own fears. There’s a certain camaraderie among us — a collective of neurotic moms with our unique anxieties: flying cockroaches, NoseFridas, striking matches, heights, confined spaces, windowless vans, the money tubes at the bank, dried fruits, syringes, and, oh, the horror of stagnant water.
I admitted to my fear of inflating car tires, convinced I would somehow overdo it and have one explode in my face. No one laughed; I suspect they’ve pondered the same scenario.
Despite our varying fears, there’s one that binds us all: an overwhelming concern for our children. Once we embrace motherhood, an instinct kicks in that heightens our awareness of every conceivable danger. It’s a balancing act—encouraging our kids to face their fears while concealing our own so they don’t inherit our neuroses. Yet, we must continue to function. We confront our fears daily, and some are grounded in reality.
We worry about our daughters facing sexual violence and pray our sons won’t become statistics as we smile through the anxiety of saying goodbye. Our fears stem from the very essence of motherhood; a part of us now exists outside our bodies, navigating the world and making choices. We dread letting them out of our sight, even though it’s a vital part of nurturing them into independence.
And perhaps, there’s a flicker of fear for the silence that settles when we find ourselves alone. We worry, sometimes irrationally, about our worth in society.
Returning to my son’s question, I chose not to reveal my deepest fears. He was too young to understand the realities of life, so instead, I recounted the time I encountered a spider in our living room. I squashed it with a shoe, and lo and behold, a swarm of baby spiders erupted.
“It’s called a nightmare bomb,” I told him. His eyes widened in awe.
“You’re so brave,” he responded, genuinely impressed.
“It runs in the family,” I whispered back.
For more insights on parenting and related topics, check out this resource on fertility matters, or explore this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. And if you’re interested in understanding the intricacies of home insemination, visit this page for more information.
In summary, as parents, we carry a multitude of fears, but our greatest worry is always for our children. We navigate our anxieties while striving to ensure they grow up safe and sound.