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The Most Terrifying Aspect of Parenthood
I used to be terrified of everything—murderers, plane crashes, car wrecks—you name it. I’d fabricate these intense mental scenarios, convinced I had met a bizarre fate in a past life. I often envied people—especially my partner, Jake—who could fall asleep in an instant, unaware of the potential disasters looming around us. How could they rest easy with thoughts of the next big earthquake or the ongoing environmental crisis? And how could they seem so carefree when the Cold War might heat up at any moment?
After my second son was born and I found myself in therapy grappling with guilt over his stroke, it became clear: I was dealing with anxiety. That’s why I grip the steering wheel so tightly on road trips, fearing a deer might leap out in front of us, leading to a gruesome accident that would leave my family’s fate hanging in the balance.
My childhood reactions reveal my anxious nature. When I teased my dad about being overly uptight, he would punish me by making me clean the bathroom before I could do my homework. “What kind of kid would rather clean than finish her assignments?” he asked. Apparently, that kid was me. I distinctly remember believing the world would cease to rotate if I didn’t finish my chemistry homework immediately. My therapist would have pointed this out as yet another example of my anxiety and paranoia, urging me to take it easy.
Once I became a parent, my fears shifted from my own potential demise to the safety of my children. I worried about everything: What if I accidentally dropped him from the changing table? What if he choked on a mouthful of Cheerios? What if he figured out how to escape his crib and drowned in the bathtub while I was sleeping?
I knew these thoughts were irrational, yet they haunted me nightly, playing out in my mind like a dramatic soap opera.
Now that my oldest is six and quite the social butterfly, my worries have escalated to something even more daunting: the loss of his innocence. I dread the thought of him encountering the harsh realities of life—the first time he realizes the world isn’t just sunshine and rainbows, or when he faces disappointment or cruel behavior from others.
I wasn’t fully aware of how profound these fears were until we went camping a few years back. For the first time, my little boy, who is clearly no longer a baby, ventured off to play with an older kid at the campground. He was still in sight, and I was pacing nervously, trying to stay close without hovering, but dark thoughts plagued my mind. I didn’t fear physical harm; I was terrified of the emotional scars he might endure—being teased, bullied, or rejected. These experiences could dull his joyful spirit and harden his loving heart as he learns how unkind the world can be.
When I was pregnant with my eldest, a colleague who was also expecting asked me if I had any fears about parenthood. I confidently replied, “No, we just do our best and hope for the best.” If she were to ask me today, my answer would be different: “Do I worry about parenthood? Not really. I can control my role as a parent. But childhood? That’s what truly scares me. I can’t shield them from growing up.”
And that, my friends, is the most terrifying part of it all.
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In summary, becoming a parent brings a mix of joy and anxiety. While we can control how we raise our children, the challenges they will face as they grow are often out of our hands. Learning to navigate these fears is part of the journey.