A few weeks back, my eldest daughter decided to go skydiving. Off she went with some friends, leaping from a perfectly functional plane, while her dad and I anxiously refreshed our phones, hoping to hear of her safe descent from two hours away.
Ah, the joys of parenting! From the moment I became a mom, my every instinct fixated on keeping that tiny human safe. Yet, almost immediately, my kids discovered countless inventive ways to injure themselves.
I did all the “right” things: baby-proofing with outlet covers, ensuring car seats were installed correctly, locking away dangerous chemicals, and having countless conversations about dangers ranging from strangers to the internet and drugs. Yet, despite my best efforts, they still managed to break bones, dent the car, and make some pretty questionable choices. From their first wobbly steps (which led straight to the corner of the coffee table) to the inevitable bike crashes, it often felt like I was chasing after them with bubble wrap—only for them to toss it aside and set it on fire.
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Once, as I put my 3-month-old down for a nap, I decided to tackle painting some window frames upstairs. My husband popped by for lunch, said a quick hello, and left. When I heard my baby stirring, I dashed to get her, only to find that he had locked the door—our usual practice. Panic ensued! I calculated the odds of jumping out the second-story window and tried to break the door down (spoiler alert: it doesn’t work like in the movies). The neighborhood was quiet, except for a lone teenager shooting hoops a few houses down. I resorted to waving my arms and yelling like a lunatic until he came over, let himself in, and freed me from my self-imposed prison. Clearly, his parents hadn’t taught him about Stranger Danger—thank goodness!
That same child once locked herself in her room as a toddler while I sat outside, our fingers touching under the door as I fumbled with the key. There’s nothing more agonizing for a parent than feeling utterly helpless when your child needs you.
Ask any parent of a chronically ill child, watching them being wheeled off for yet another procedure. Or those who face endless bureaucratic hurdles in adopting a child. Then there are divorced parents sharing custody with an irresponsible ex or those with deployed partners. This is the reality of parenthood, yet, none of us read the fine print before diving into it!
A friend recently expressed her worries after dropping her kid off at college, echoing my concerns as my own prepares for a semester abroad. With the news cycles filled with stories from places like Paris and Brussels, it’s hard not to fret. But that’s just fear talking, and fear doesn’t get to call the shots. Marianne Williamson wisely says, “Love is what we’re born with; fear is what we learn here.”
Parenting is fundamentally about navigating risk. From birth, it’s a delicate dance of catch and release. We must balance keeping them close while also encouraging them to explore. The ultimate goal? To work ourselves out of a job!
Full disclosure: I grew up in the ’70s and ’80s when we rode bikes for miles without helmets and drank straight from the garden hose. The Surgeon General was just a whisper. I support barefoot running, galloping horses, tree climbing, and shouting “Swing higher, Daddy!”
Yes, parenting brings moments of sheer panic, times when we can’t shield our children from every stumble. Did we really think it would be all fun and games? We can’t obsess over safety in a world that thrives on fear. When did failure become a forbidden word? It’s the stepping stone to growth!
The good stuff lies on the other side of risk. Connection, creativity, and a life filled with adventure await. Sometimes we need to let go of the bike’s handle and stop running behind them. Honestly, I’m too old for that! Parenting isn’t about my fears; it’s about their journey into the world.
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In summary, letting our children take risks fosters growth and connection. While the anxiety of parenting can be intense, it ultimately leads to profound life experiences, both for us and our kids.