I have a plethora of irrational fears. Like many moms, I find that we often share similar worries. We fret when our kids head out the door without us, and our minds spiral into concerns about the future, pesky urinary tract infections, head lice, and the terrifying prospect of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. I never fully grasped the extent of my own phobias until my children began to voice theirs. Their fears tend to revolve around the classic kiddo anxieties: monsters lurking under the bed, mysterious figures hiding in closets, and, just for kicks, the intimidating experience of drive-through car washes.
During one of my many efforts to calm their nerves, my eldest asked, “What are you afraid of, Mommy?” Yikes.
Had I chosen to be completely honest, I might have said, “Your mom is a bit neurotic. I’m terrified of clowns and poorly drawn eyebrows. I also get anxious when crossing bridges, find large bodies of water daunting, and if I can’t see the bottom of a lake, there’s no way I’m getting in. The dentist? A nightmare! Without the constant teasing from friends and family, I’d probably never go. I even worry about weevils in our sugar and grains, which makes me grateful to be living in the 21st century instead of a century ago. Oh, and don’t get me started on horses.”
While sharing this story at the playground with fellow moms, they chimed in with their own fears. At the core, we’re all pretty much the same — a bunch of neurotic worrywarts with an endless list of concerns: flying cockroaches, NoseFrida devices, matches, heights, cramped spaces, windowless vans, those strange suction tubes at the bank that whisk money away, dried fruits, needles, and (shudder) stagnant water.
I admitted I dread putting air in our car tires, convinced I’ll overinflate one and it’ll explode in my face. Sure, it’s unlikely to happen, but why tempt fate? No one laughed; I could tell they had pondered this fear too.
Though our worries differ, there’s one fear that unites us all: the fear for our children. Once we become mothers, a switch flips in our brains, making us acutely aware of every potential threat, big or small. It’s a tricky balance between teaching our kids that it’s okay to be scared, while also shielding them from our own deepest anxieties. We must continue living our lives, confronting our fears daily — some of which are entirely valid.
We fear for our daughters being vulnerable to harm. We worry for our sons each time they step outside, praying they won’t become a statistic while we put on brave smiles and wave goodbye.
As mothers, we’re tethered to our children in a way that makes us anxious when they’re out of sight, even as we understand that independence is a part of healthy growth.
Perhaps a sliver of us dreads the silence of being alone.
We even irrationally question our own worth in society.
Returning to my son’s question, I didn’t spill my fears about leeches or creepers; instead, I told him about the time I encountered a spider in our living room. I squashed it with a shoe, only to have a thousand baby spiders burst forth. “It’s called a nightmare bomb,” I shared. His eyes widened. “You are so brave,” he whispered with awe. “It’s hereditary,” I replied softly.
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Summary:
In this light-hearted reflection, Lila explores the common fears shared among mothers, highlighting their concerns for their children’s safety and well-being. Amidst the humor of personal anxieties, she touches on the deeper, more serious fears that come with motherhood, ultimately revealing the complex nature of parenting.