I’ve lived with my anxiety for so long that it mostly feels normal to me. But motherhood offers endless opportunities for unhinged anxiety to creep in, and it stuns me how often it’s present. I rarely feel anxious about my own safety. My anxiety hits around the clock and focuses on my children’s safety, never missing the opportunity to unsettle me.
It feels vulnerable to share these anxious thoughts, but common at the same time. Nearly every mother that I know is on a prescription. I’m thankful for the mental health support that I receive. With medication, I can stop the escalating panic and interject logic along the way. But the struggle is ever-present. And I know that I’m not alone.
Anxiety hits when an unknown number calls in the middle of the day.
I pick up, and I’m reminded how annoying spam calls are. But there is no emergency here.
Anxiety hits as they play in the driveway—certain they’ll be hit by a car. Or kidnapped.
But I am delighted by the games created near the corner bus stop. My kids play with neighbors daily, and we’re building a community that I love.
Anxiety hits at the sound of a siren heading toward our elementary school.
I take deep breaths and encourage myself in the same way I recently comforted my toddler, who was startled by sirens. My reminder to him is that the sirens we hear are the helpers, on their way to take care of someone who will be happy to see them.
Anxiety hits at a birthday party. What if they bite and inhale a balloon?
Birthday parties are so fun. Costco cake is the best! I tell myself to stay focused on the joy!
My anxiety hits when I’m in a meeting. What if they have a bee allergy, and we just don’t know yet? Does daycare have an Epi-pen on hand?
I remind myself that we don’t have an Epi-pen at home either. And the daycare staff’s CPR training is more current than my own.
Anxiety hits when they sleep in. Are they breathing? Did they die in the night?
But we live in a time when medical care is so advanced. I would know if they were really at risk. Their bodies just need extra rest. I try to enjoy the rare morning of calm.
Anxiety hits in the movie theater. Are we safe here? How will we ever make it to that red exit sign from our seat way up here?
I’ll do what I can if the worst happens. Having an escape plan is already a step ahead. I relax my shoulders and focus on my children’s reactions to the popcorn and the show.
Anxiety hits as they race down the broken sidewalk. Will they put out their hands to catch their inevitable fall? Will their teeth be knocked out of their mouths?
But cuts and scrapes are part of life. I don’t want my kids in a bubble. Those baby teeth need to come out anyway. I focus on my ability to offer comfort whenever an injury occurs.
Anxiety hits when someone buckles them but me. Did the other person secure them like we learned in our newborn training class?
I swallow my social discomfort and double-check their buckles. I’d rather be safe than sorry.
Anxiety hits as they run up and down the stairs. How bad will their injury be?
But it’s a rite of passage to slide down a few steps. I shut down stairwell shenanigans but otherwise refrain from intervening.
Anxiety hits as I tell them goodbye. Will this be the last time I see them? I push this thought down with the lump in my throat. We are not promised tomorrow, and my children know they are loved.
I talk myself down each time anxiety surfaces. I make logical daily decisions and give the kids age-appropriate freedoms. We go to parks. And movies. And parades. They play in the driveway. I fight against my urge to give emotional goodbyes.
I make safe choices but engage with the world that scares me. And despite the anxious burden, I mostly feel very happy. I genuinely enjoy being a mom. But my body is ready for danger, and my mind is prepared for the worst.
