I attempted to reason with my daughter, an approach that often proves futile when dealing with a child’s fears. Logic is like a rubber band against a brick wall—impossible to stretch. So, I decided to tap into my own childhood memories and reflect on what it felt like to be scared.
At her age, I had an irrational fear of bears. I was convinced that one of those majestic beasts would wander into our suburban home in San Carlos. I imagined peering down from my top bunk and seeing a massive bear head staring back at me, ready to devour me. The fact that bears had never been spotted in San Carlos didn’t calm my anxious mind. They were lurking out there, somewhere, likely alongside the moving mannequins. The logic that a bear could never open our front door due to its lack of opposable thumbs did nothing to ease my terror.
As I grew older, my fears shifted. I developed an irrational dread of a small pendulum clock hanging in our kitchen. While it wasn’t a towering grandfather clock, the ticking sound at night felt like it was creeping closer and closer. I never bothered to think about how a tiny clock could harm me; perhaps it was a subconscious acknowledgment that time itself would eventually catch up to me.
My daughter’s fears mirror my childhood anxieties—specific and vivid. That mannequin is moving. The clock is inching closer. Bears have found a way into our home. These fears feel entirely real to her.
Even as an adult, I harbor my own fears. I worry that the bank might make a clerical error, leading to us losing our home. I fret over giant corporations plotting against me. And, of course, there’s the undeniable truth about not having enough funds to cover my three daughters’ weddings and college. That’s not just a fear; it’s a looming reality.
I have a friend who’s convinced that space debris is going to fall from the sky. It sounds absurd, but it’s very real to him. He also fears West Nile Virus so much that he douses himself in bug spray, despite hardly ever venturing outdoors. Probably because of the falling space junk.
Fears don’t just vanish; some fade while new ones emerge. I no longer worry about bears invading my house—unless they show up disguised as loan officers in a Chase Bank blazer. Digital clocks have replaced my pendulum foe.
Perhaps we need to have fears of some kind to keep us alert, reminiscent of our ancestors’ fight-or-flight instincts. So, instead of employing logic or reasoning—neither of which work—I accepted my daughter’s fear and tried to lighten it. Along with her older sister, we dressed the mannequin in a silly outfit that made my youngest giggle when she saw it. Scarves, a princess dress, a feather boa, and oversized glasses with wobbly eyeballs worked wonders. Those dress-up boxes truly do come in handy.
For several nights after, my daughter would look for the mannequin and beam at the sight of it. Mission accomplished. Until last night, when I heard a cry echoing from down the hall: “Mommy! Daddy! I hear scratchy noises coming from my closet.”
Don’t worry, sweetheart; it’s probably just a bear.
For more on navigating parenthood and home insemination, check out our article on artificial insemination kits and learn from the experts at Make A Mom. For additional resources, visit the CDC’s pregnancy page.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares personal anecdotes about childhood fears and how they resonate with their daughter’s current anxieties. By embracing these fears with humor and creativity, the author finds a way to alleviate their daughter’s worries while acknowledging that fear is a universal part of life that evolves over time.
Keyphrase: childhood fears and parenting
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