After welcoming my first child into the world, I found myself haunted by some pretty dark thoughts. Picture this: I’m carrying my little one down the stairs, wrapped in a cozy blanket, and suddenly I imagine tripping and crashing us both into the wall. Or I could be driving to the store with my baby in the backseat, and I see a horrifying head-on collision happening at 50 mph. Even bath time wasn’t safe; I’d envision my child struggling underwater, wide-eyed and gasping for air.
At first, I thought, “Wow, I must be losing it!” Maybe I had morphed into this morbid, fearful version of myself due to sleep deprivation. But then I confided in another new mother. “Oh, I experience that too!” she said, and we both felt a wave of relief. We concluded that these dark imaginings were our minds’ way of preparing us to be vigilant moms. It made sense; our brains were just trying to keep our little ones safe. We walked downstairs carefully, drove with extra caution, and learned not to rush to the phone while our babies splashed in the tub. We were just being responsible parents.
Fast forward seven years, and while those initial nightmares happen less often, new fears have emerged. Now, I find myself imagining a troubled young man walking into my son’s school and committing an unspeakable act during lunch, or envisioning explosions at sporting events and cars barreling through crowded sidewalks. These thoughts are terrifying and completely out of my control.
Not too long ago, my dad remarked that our generation has become a bit too overprotective—like we’re all walking around in a daze, traumatized by the world around us. And it struck me: he was right. While we may not be on the battlefield, we’ve been living through a slow, creeping anxiety for the past couple of decades.
In our younger years, we were glued to the screen as planes became fireballs on live television. We were bombarded with round-the-clock news about wars, violence, and tragic events. From bombings and beheadings to heartbreaking stories about children in peril, we’ve seen it all. Then, we became parents.
As the news cycle churns on, it feels increasingly difficult to find joy. It’s hard to escape the barrage of negativity when news outlets compete for our dwindling attention spans. They hammer us with “Breaking News” alerts until it seems like chaos is all around us.
Just yesterday, while trying to find a cute show for my four-year-old, the TV blared, “A Jordanian pilot has been burned alive by ISIS.” Warnings like “GRAPHIC CONTENT” now accompany news articles, raising ethical questions about the appropriateness of showing such violent imagery. Death is plastered everywhere, and it can feel overwhelming.
Thanks to social media, we’re privy to the ups and downs of friends’ lives and the dramas unfolding in distant cities. We know about potential dangers at local parks and the tragic deaths of people we’ve never even met. It’s almost as if we’re living through a collective grief, absorbing every sorrowful detail.
People often say that the Internet has made the world smaller, connecting us all. But in reality, it’s colossal. You can type any question into Google and find a myriad of answers, whether you’re searching for “How to fix a leaky faucet” or “How to use a home insemination kit.” The world is vast, and while death may be a constant presence, it doesn’t have to invade our personal lives.
Reading about missing children can skew our perception, making us feel like the world is more dangerous than it actually is—even though statistically, it’s not. Stranger danger exists, but it’s not as prevalent as we think. If we genuinely want to safeguard our kids, we should be more vigilant about those within our circle: family, neighbors, and coaches are often more significant threats than strangers.
I’ve learned to protect my own mental health to avoid spiraling into the fear I once thought I had. I steer clear of local news and don’t immerse myself in graphic videos. I aim to strike a balance—enough awareness to be informed without drowning in cynicism and sadness. Just because I read something doesn’t mean I need to treat it as a looming threat.
I remind myself: I can’t wrap my children in a bubble. What I can do is focus on maintaining my own happiness so I can raise joyful kids. This means allowing them some independence, letting them play outside alone, and teaching them to approach life with empathy rather than fear. If we can cultivate a sense of adventure together, we may find ourselves riding the waves of life, navigating ups and downs, rather than hovering anxiously over them.
So, let’s make a commitment. Let’s limit the time we spend absorbing violent news, avoid reading about sick children when ours are healthy, worry less about uncontrollable events, and appreciate the world for its vast beauty. Let’s take our kids outside, let them experience failure and sadness so they can recognize true happiness, and engage with strangers. Instead of hovering over them, let’s ride those waves together.
Doesn’t that sound like a healthier approach? Not ignorance, but a blissful awareness.
Summary
As a mom, I’ve learned to tune out the overwhelming negativity of the news to maintain my sanity and create a happier environment for my children. By focusing on the positives and allowing my kids some independence, I can help them navigate the world with empathy rather than fear. Let’s commit to limiting exposure to violent news and cherish the joyful moments in life.