Scared of everything

I’m scared of everything. It’s the way I was raised; to see danger everywhere, to be prepared for the worst. I have a daughter; she doesn’t see danger at all, which gives me something else to be scared about.

My biggest fear is that something will happen to my daughter. My second biggest fear is that something will happen to me that will take me away from her. I don’t think this is unique to me, most mothers feel the same I’m sure. My own mum said that she would bargain with…not God because she’s not religious, but the universe perhaps, to let her live long enough to see all of her children reach 18. Then they would be old enough to look after themselves. Maybe that’s why she had five kids. I only have one kid, and 18 doesn’t seem old enough. I am greedy, I want to witness as much of her life as I possibly can.

Fight or flight

Because I grew up a martial artist, I was as physically capable of protecting myself as I could possibly be. But this only counted for so much. I knew that most men would be stronger than me. That women could attack in gangs. That weapons might be used. So, I was taught to think preemptively. To avoid danger wherever possible. This meant being aware of my surroundings, not walking alone in the dark, locking my car doors as soon as I got in.

Of course, as a teenager, I broke all of these rules. When I discovered alcohol, I got myself into many a compromising situation. Like my daughter, I didn’t see the danger.

I’d say the fear really started when I moved into my own place. The walk from where I parked my car to my flat was dark and creepy and so every time I would sprint – carrying my Maglite as a weapon – heart racing, hands shaking as I rushed to get the key in the front door. This meant I spent some part of every day in fight or flight.

Parenting equals fear

The fear worsened when I had my daughter. In hindsight, I probably had a touch of postnatal depression but then I thought that my fears were rational. I had visions of somebody snatching her from her buggy as we walked to the supermarket. I was reluctant to take her to the park because I thought she would be wrestled from me as I pushed her on the swing.

Once, when we were abroad, a young, foreign couple asked my husband if they could take a photo of our blond haired, blue eyed toddler. Flattered, he obliged. I was furious. It was not long after the tragic disappearance of Madeline McCann and I was convinced that they were going to abduct her. Certain that her picture was floating the dark web, that these people would sell her to the highest bidder. I was hyper-vigilant for the remainder of the holiday, relieved when it was time to return home.

Growing up, my daughter thought it funny to hide from me when we were in public. Between racks of clothes in shops, behind trees in parks. Every time, my heart would be in my throat; that awful feeling when you can’t set eyes on your child. She enjoyed the attention and I would see her plotting her next escape. I was a nervous wreck.

Now that she’s 13, she’s starting to go out alone. You can imagine how I feel about that. She leaves her phone on silent and my texts ignored, she has no time for my helicopter parenting. Needless to say, I’m still a nervous wreck.

Feel the fear and do it anyway

I’m not finding freedom as I age either, although that’s not surprising. You only have to turn on the news to hear about another woman who has come to harm, another child attacked. As a result, I won’t walk around the local country park alone because I don’t feel safe. I get anxiety before every run and have taken to carrying my phone with me just in case. For as long as I can remember I have wanted to travel with my daughter, to give her memories of us. We did our first 4-day trip away, to Tenerife, this year and while I loved it, I missed the security of my 6-foot, stocky husband. He has none of my worries and an air of confidence carried exclusively by men.

None of this means that I am a hermit. No, I feel the fear and do it anyway. While I am sure that every plane that I get on will crash, I get on it anyway. I still drive even though I can see accidents waiting to happen at every junction. I run past the white van even as I am expecting the side door to open and my likely abduction. Fist clenched in anticipation of a necessary right hook, I smile at the dodgy looking guy walking past me, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

I’m concerned that I sound crazy but I know that I’m not. My own experiences, and situations that I have witnessed have taught me that I’m right to be wary. I’ve seen enough violence, I’ve been on the receiving end of ugly behaviours, to know that my concern is justified.

And yet…

And yet…and still, I am hopeful that my daughter is right and that I am wrong. I’m hopeful that she will live a life free from fear. That she will never see the ugly side of life, of people. That she will know only joy. I’m aware that this is unrealistic. But, wouldn’t that be the dream?