Yesterday unfolded like any other day. I woke up later than planned—an all-too-familiar routine. From there, the day cascaded into a flurry of activity, and it wasn’t until I dropped my son off at daycare that I finally found a moment to breathe. As I walked towards the parking lot, the whirlwind slowed, and that’s when the anxiety crept in.
Did I express my love for him? I think I may have forgotten to say, “I love you.” He gave me sweet kisses, but did I reciprocate? What sort of mother am I?
Logically, I know my child is aware of my love, and yet, the anxious part of my brain whispers doubts that I can’t seem to silence. I shouldn’t let these feelings overwhelm me, but they persist.
Once I reached my car, I called my partner, feeling a weight on my chest. I voiced my concern about neglecting to say those three crucial words. He reassured me, “He knows you love him,” and for a moment, I felt that burden lift—until the next wave of worry hit.
I’m a mother who tends to worry excessively, and it’s a feeling I dislike deeply. My concerns range from valid to obsessive and even irrational. I fret over whether I was too stern with my son, if he ate enough during the day, or if he felt neglected when I was busy with household chores. I question if enforcing a time-out was the right decision, or if he simply needed comfort.
At night, I check on him multiple times while he sleeps, anxious about whether his breathing is steady or if he’s too close to the crib bars. My mind races with possibilities of accidents that could occur during the day, despite the lack of evidence to support these fears. What if he escapes my grasp and runs into traffic? What if he falls while playing? What if I forget to tell him I love him one last time? Though I know these thoughts are irrational, I find it difficult to detach myself from them.
As a mother, I constantly battle these worries, which drains my energy that should be spent enjoying time with my child. My thoughts are consumed by past actions, replaying conversations and questioning whether I said or did the right things. I cling to mistakes that my son will likely never remember, chastising myself long after he has moved on. To those who do not share this mindset, my thoughts may seem irrational, and sometimes I wonder if I am truly losing my grip on reality.
This inner turmoil is exhausting. I wish I could simply let each day unfold without overanalyzing every moment. I yearn for a way to quiet my racing thoughts, to manage them instead of being overwhelmed. Yet, I remain determined to find that peace—for my son’s sake.
I aspire to be a strong, confident mother rather than a worrywart. I am aware that one day he may sense my anxiety, and I never want him to inherit this burden. He deserves a warrior mom, not a worrier mom. So, while I work toward that goal, he must settle for the mom I am today. Despite my worries, I deeply cherish the role of being his mother, and I believe he knows this.
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In conclusion, while I grapple with my worries, my love for my son is unwavering, and that is what truly matters.
Keyphrase: Worrier Mom to Warrior Mom
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