scaredy cat

my parents are in town this weekend, a blessing overall and yet sometimes not. our house is incredibly small, adding two more people inside it's walls reduces the space, air quality seems forced at a time when i need to be taking great giant gulps of air. on top of that j is sick, has been sick, sick all week.

i've retreated at the predawn hours on a sunday to a local coffee shop, stepping over sleeping people on my way out the door. work is filling my lungs from within, projects yet to be finished and sweeping changes in the process of being made.

and yet as i sit in this still small morning instead of using the time wisely my mind drifts to my child, this child of my heart and all the ways we teach them to fear.

we have some rules already; no talking about monsters unless in response to M's questioning, no joking about dark places. but fear is everywhere, used sometimes as a game while grandma pretends to be afraid when M puts on lion mask and chases her around the room. scary! she says. so scary! to which M says me scared too, gramma! mom, i say, the downer at the party, it isn't scary. it's funny, it's adorable, but it's not scary. i realize you are kidding, but she listens to your words and somewhere deep inside must wonder why this earns the label of scared.

you are right, she said, you are right. and stops. a small victory.

be careful, we holler, as M climbs down steps or rides her bike. you could fall, echoes in her ears as she races past.

there were monsters at school today, M screeches on our way home last week. monsters? I would have liked to meet them. I love monsters. in fact, they are my favorite. No mommie, they are scary! i scared! Scared? I say, did one of the monsters scare you? yes! she exclaims. How, baby? and there is nothing to say, a process in her head still to complicated to put into words, but yet it's there, the fear.

I want her to be fearless, to laugh in the face of monsters, to know she has all the resources in the world to keep herself safe, and yet i am achingly aware of her vulnerability. On the surface I can be diligent, aware, careful. I can screen out books that reference being afraid of the dark or fear of monsters. And there are practical things to fear in this world, the balance of that staggers me regularly, I can't pretend that isn't true.

But what about the fear I carry around with me every single day? The fear of failure, of insecurity, of vulnerability. Of making the wrong decision and falling short? Of not being a good mother, partner, daughter, human? How do I wear my fear and what bigger lesson do I teach M by it's presence?

And worse is the hypocrisy, because monsters scare me too, but it's the unknown ones around the corner rather than the ones under the bed.