Running from the fear

When I talk about fear here, I usually mean “fear of failure” or “fear of not writing” or even the ever present “Fear of being a bad mother.”

But this past week, I have been running away from a very different kind of fear. Physical fear. The fear of being harmed during one of my outings with Madam. The fear that something will happen that I cannot control. That I will not be able to protect her.

Since becoming a mother, I have had a few panic attacks, all centered around issues of Madam's care. One memorable episode was in the aisles of a grocery store—I was unnerved by my new responsibility—she was no longer nursing/on the bottle exclusively and I was attempting to chart the brave new world of solids. Perhaps for most mothers, this would not have been cause for alarm, but I've always had a perfect horror-movie script of an imagination. I could see Madam growing weak, ill, because I wasn't feeding her correctly. Or not enough. Or too much. Or the wrong foods.

You get the idea.

The most frightening attack, though, occurred this past winter. It was a rare warm-ish day and so I took Madam across the street to yet another grocery store (maybe the lesson here is to avoid grocery stores!). Being winter, darkness fell swiftly. When we left the store, it was completely black outside. Now, I don't want to be dramatic (well, not this time)--I live in a safe area of town, I was right across the street, and there were people shopping and walking and eating near by.

And yet. Suddenly, I was struck by how small she was, by how much she depended on me. But she felt safe, even though it was dark, because I was with her. And I felt completely unequal to that challenge.

It was so very dark.

I scooped her up in my arms, and basically ran back home. And it was fine, but so nerve wracking that I burst into tears upon handing her back to TEG.

What if? What if?

I don't go out with Madam in the darkness anymore, but lately these thoughts have even begun to haunt me in the day. What could I do to stop someone who was determined to hurt me or my child? Am I careful enough? Aware enough? So not going out in the dark has become practically not leaving the house at all. That means I haven't been able to see the awesome mommies I know here, because they live on the other side of town. Or take my daughter to story time. Or to browse in a bookstore.

It's become so very dark in my mind.

None of this is helped by my new addiction to the news. I read way more than is good for me—an assembly line of abducted women, families destroyed, children killed. Senseless, wanton. Terrifying. I know that these stories are usually hyped by a media who lives by the credo “If it bleeds, it leads.” I know that basically, we can take our precautions and hope for the best.

But it is very difficult to escape the feeling lately that women are targets. Women and children.

Becoming a mother has made me feel more vulnerable than anything in my life. I think back to the risks I used to take in my previous life--working late, walking down dark streets alone. Oh, I was always careful, and aware. So what has changed?

It's not just me anymore.

I didn't want to write these thoughts out, because of a pervasive dread that I might somehow bring on the very things I am scared to think about. But...by trying to suppress these thoughts, I think I have let them grow stronger in the shadows. Like everything else I am afraid to face.

I haven't wanted to write here lately until I felt like I could give a full narrative shape to my feelings—a beginning, middle, and end. And I can't yet. But I needed to write it down, and make myself see it.

Recently, I read the “Gift of Fear”, and the author reminded me of something I have always known, but perhaps needed to hear again. Nonstop anxiety actually makes us LESS capable of seeing a true threat.

So I went out with Madam. Tense, a little shaky, but outside.

I just want to feel like I can protect her. I just want to feel safe again.