When I took on the challenge of motherhood, I will admit that my perception of how the journey would present itself was flawed. I assumed that with the years of babysitting experience I’d collected, I was ready for the 24/7 responsibility of a human being that came from my vagina. A soul birthed from my decisions.
I was loud and wrong.
I can be honest that I lacked the patience I now have when I had my first daughter in 2015. There was the standard level of empathy and love. But, the feracious level of security I wanted to provide her was not a characteristic that I’d imagined having. The need to protect her would be there, for sure. The amount of things, people, places and moments I ended up classifying as threats was massive and suffocating.
At two years old, she was an explorer just like every toddler I’ve had the privilege of meeting. There was no stair she wouldn’t climb. No inanimate object she would leave untouched or untested. This included the stove. I would get so angry with her for crossing the imaginary perimeter I’d mentally drawn around it to keep her safe. Isn’t that crazy? Without explaining the boundaries I’d set, she was scolded for her inability to respect them.
Once I recognized the misstep, I began expressing to her the importance of keeping space between her and the burners. How dangerous it was for her to possibly swipe and burn her hands. The hospital trips. The pain. The blah, blah, blah.
When I had my daughter in 2017, I was more prepared. I assumed, right? I was ready for the challenge. After my first daughter, I had all the tools I needed to parent perfectly.
It was around the cute and cuddly age of two that she started experimenting with the industrial step stool my husband brought home. A couple slips later, I stumbled right into overreacting yet again because she was clearly disregarding another invisible boundary I had mentally set after I determined the step stool was a threat.
This time it wasn’t protection from a what if burn. It was the arrival of the what if slip and fall.
I began to recognize the pattern in my triggers. There was no disrespect or ill intent on my daughters’ behalf. I was not feeling anger on either of these occasions. I was afraid. Afraid that something would make my daughter feel a way she did not want to. Fear that pain she could not take would overtake her. It was an unhealthy reflex to an uncomfortable situation that made me feel out-of-control. Inadequate.
Unable to protect her from anything, anyone that could mean her harm.
I had allowed the fear of what could happen control how I guided them through this life. Of all the characteristics I wanted to instill in my girls, the desire to be bold was top-tier. How does that equate to the examples of life I was providing them with from the beginning? How was I teaching my children to be bold while persistently warning them of the dangers that lurked around the mildest corners?
The fear was okay. It was to be expected. But, the protection had become stifling to their development and their curiosity. I refused to participate in that, so things had to change.
My three-year-old skipped into the kitchen while I was preparing breakfast Saturday morning. Her sisters were busy playing Roblox on the TV in the family room and each of their tablets. Initially, I was hesitant when she started trying on my apron and putting on disposable gloves. I was cooking bacon and sausage on the stove and you know the grease can be lethal.
I took a breath, turned down the stove to reduce the risk and let her climb up to help. I watched my daughter flip and remove sausage from the stove like a professional. A moment that would have been lost had fear continued to mentor my movements.
Finding freedom from the fear that complements motherhood is liberating, but it takes time. Understanding my primary emotion and my triggers were the biggest step to overcoming the overwhelming feeling of 24/7 maximum security. I’ve learned to distinguish opportunities for growth from viable threats. In this evolution, I have allowed my girls to discover their strengths, identify their weaknesses and label their passions.
But, I’m always here.
To catch them when they may slip. Encourage them when they may fall.
To celebrate as they climb.