Adventure and healthy risk-taking are the markings of a childhood well-lived. At least, that’s what they say. I want to believe it, live it, and let adventure lead, but that would require me to let go.
In life and in motherhood, there is what I want, what I know, and what I am brave enough to allow. Those things aren’t often the same. Somewhere between watching and hesitating, I have to decide daily which one wins that day.
Courage, after all, is a slippery thing, bold one moment and trembling the next. Keeping a hold of her long enough to enjoy the rhythms of daily living must be chosen and, more often, fought for with each new day. As I have gotten older, I find that I have become more anxious. I am not sure if it is age, hormones, lived experience, or just too much negative media playing in the background of my mind, feeding scary future scenarios. What might come easily to you . . . traffic, elevators, hotel stays, flights, stages, bridges . . . keeps me up at night.
Longing to control as many facets of my family’s life as possible to avoid triggers and keep myself feeling calm, I find that I have less energy and even less joy when new and exciting opportunities and experiences come around the corner.
Courage is a fickle little friend, isn’t she? She promises a good time with just one careless leap off a sloping cliff, but who in their right mind would take that leap with their kids in tow?
Every day, I meet the version of myself I’m capable of being for that day, the one I want to be and the one I can be. Anxiety has been allowed to call too many shots, cancel too many plans, and take up too much space in my mind.
Anxiety does not prevent death. It only prevents life.
While I refuse to feel shame when my children witness me struggle with anxiety, knowing that my humanity gives them permission to embrace their own, I am careful not to let my worries become their weight. Fear can be contagious. So I fight to keep my thoughts anchored in truth. I remind myself again and again who I am, where I am, and what God says about the matter. And when fear still whispers in the dark, I remind myself to do it anyway, even if I have to do it scared.
I’ll never forget standing in line for Guardians of the Galaxy at Disney. I love a good roller coaster, but dark, enclosed rides? Those are another story. The possibility of getting stuck upside down in the bowels of that dark roller coaster is the stuff of nightmares. My default would be to step aside and say, “You go ahead, I’ll wait right here.” But my kids were looking up at me, expectant, hoping I’d join them. So I took several deep breaths, clung to my husband’s hand, counted my exits, and prayed a silent prayer. And then I did it scared.
The ride was truly AWESOME. Praise God it went smoothly, and we had no delays while on the ride. And still, I am unsure I will be able to ride it again. But my kids were proud of me. I was proud of myself, for riding that ride.
That’s what mothering through anxiety looks like sometimes. Not the absence of fear, but the choice to show up anyway. To do the thing your kids will remember, not because it was easy, but because you did it together.
There are moments when mothering with anxiety feels hopeless. But that, I know, is a lie. So I have to preach to myself what is true:
- Feelings are not fact.
- I have Jesus.
- Counseling helps.
- My children are watching.
- I’ve done hard things before.
And I’ll keep doing them.
If you need a little help retraining your thoughts like I do, here’s a book that’s been a balm to my heart: Loving God with All Your Mind by Elizabeth George. Whether you are faith-based or not, this book beautifully redirects anxious thoughts toward what is true. It reminds you that “what if” thoughts are nothing more than figments of imagination and that they have no right to control your real, present life.
I think often about the movie Inside Out and the moment when they said, “Anxiety doesn’t get to drive.” That line sticks with me because it’s true. Anxiety might ride along, but it doesn’t get to take the wheel.
As mothers, we long to give our children wings, to help them soar when they’re ready and fly farther than we ever could. But that begins with us being brave enough to stretch out our own in demonstration.
So mothers, let’s be gentle with ourselves. Let’s give grace for the days courage hides and celebrate the days we find her again. Let’s not allow anxiety to prune our wings. Instead, let’s spread them wide, trembling, maybe, but open, and let our children see us fly.
You might surprise yourself. Anxiety isn’t velcro, after all. Maybe the more we fly, the less it sticks.
