Fear
When I was a kid I used to hide under the wooden bridge in my school playground during recess. I was shy and barely spoke a word during the school day. Like a mouse burrows to escape the diving hawk I found my own little safe space to burrow under. I have always been timid like a mouse, but the fear I felt on the playground was a superficial fear. It was the same kind of fear I felt when I hid under my blanket in the dark, afraid that monsters would crawl out of the crack beside my bed. I would run my fingers through the silk fringe on the edge of my blanket again and again for comfort. It was a fear that came from not being ready, not a fear from being in danger.
When I turned 18 I was offered a scholarship to a university in Florida. It was a long way away from my home town in Ontario. I remember boarding the plane all by myself, my luggage safely checked below, and looking out the window feeling this tingle of fear and excitement. That was what fear meant to me most of my life. It was exciting. I became addicted to being out of my comfort zone! There is a deep connection that comes with taking comfort in strangers when you are all in a new place and all a little bit afraid.
That was not fear. The first fear I felt, the first real fear, was when I held my brand new baby boy in my arms for the first time. That is when I knew fear. Cold fear. Fear that started in the pit of my stomach and ran in an icy flow throughout my body so that I couldn't breath. Suddenly my life meant more than an overseas adventure. The stray thought of anything happening to him left me feeling paralyzed. Suddenly I put a whole new value on my own life. I needed to be there for him. He needed me. I felt suddenly completely inadequate and under the big frigid fears another fear crept in slowly and quietly: maybe I wouldn't be enough.
Parenthood was wonderful. I had this initial high as I delighted in the tiny new human that I was caring for and each little thing he learned. I didn't notice that creeping fear of inadequacy at first, it was buried under all of the wonderful happy feelings. When my son turned 6 months old that fear of inadequacy took over. I had this phrase repeating over and over in my head as if it were connected to my heart beat, "I-need-help, I-need-help, I-need-help" and this tiny voice whispering I'm no good for him. Somehow the whisper was louder than the laughter. I was later told that I had "delayed onset postpartum depression."
Getting out of that was a long hard slough. A hundred tiny baby steps in the right direction. When I was working as a swim instructor we used to do an exercise to practice getting out of thin ice. We used kickboards to simulate the ice. If you find yourself in thin ice the way to survive is to grab at the ice in front of you and keep grabbing and grabbing as the ice breaks away under your hands until you find ice thick enough to hold you. That was what it was like to pull myself out of depression. It was like grasping at nothing until finally something took hold. My fear held me back but also drove me forwards.
I find safety and comfort in my children's laughter, in my work as I try to be everything they need me to be, and in late nights spent with my husband, but the new fear is with me always. I think that is alright. It is like a pessimistic friend there to remind me that I am not perfect and that I have this constant need to better myself. Every once and a while that fear sneaks up on me and paralyzes me again in a dream, or when my thoughts are wandering, but for the most part it is something I have learned to accept and live with. I balance it with the wonderful moments with my kids.
