Life threw me a curveball early on. I lost my dad when I was just four, followed by my grandfather six months later. Those late-night phone calls always meant bad news—someone was sick, dying, or had passed away. Maybe that’s why I constantly brace myself for the worst; I’m always waiting for that proverbial shoe to drop. Now, I find myself in a great place with a supportive partner, amazing kids, and a welcoming community, yet everything still feels so fragile.
In the blink of an eye, disaster could strike. Car crashes, bus accidents, plane troubles, bike mishaps—seriously, even a tree crashing through our roof during a storm! A simple slip in the bathroom or a fall from a seemingly low height could change everything. And let’s not even get into random acts of violence.
I often feel like I’m reliving tragedies that have never happened to me, haunted by disturbing images gleaned from the news. Just think about it: a bus with its roof torn off, a woman driving the wrong way and taking innocent lives, or those heart-wrenching stories of babies left in sweltering cars. I’m a laid-back mom, yet this constant paranoia feels like a total contrast.
I could share countless stories that leave a mark on my memory, but what I conjure up in my mind is usually much worse: decapitations, lost limbs, broken bones, and diseases. The gory details haunt me daily.
Now, before you suggest I should book a therapy session immediately, let me clarify: these thoughts don’t paralyze me. They pop into my mind at random moments, and I simply acknowledge them and move on. I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on them—I’ve got kids to chase after!
I also keep a mental tally of friends who have faced serious medical challenges with their little ones. My heart aches for them, yet I can’t help but feel a bit of relief that it wasn’t my child. I know it’s not schadenfreude, but rather a superstitious notion that if it happened to someone I know, it won’t happen to me. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, right?
Yet, worries sneak into my mind at the most inconvenient times. When I’m exhausted and get behind the wheel, I can’t shake off the images of horrific crashes. If my kids have a fever, I pray it’s just a passing bug, because a hospital visit could expose them to something far worse. And every time my partner goes out biking with our son, my mind races with scenarios of reckless drivers. Seeing an ambulance in the distance sends my imagination spiraling into dark territory—a loved one in a horrific accident.
I can’t be the only parent who thinks like this. I’m sure others share these fears, but we often keep quiet to avoid being labeled as neurotic or hypochondriacal. Maybe we’re just superstitious, fearing that voicing our anxieties might make them come true.
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In summary, while I maintain a facade of calm, a part of me is always on high alert, anticipating the unexpected. It’s a delicate balance of enjoying the present while wrestling with the fear of what might happen next.