Yesterday unfolded like any typical day. I woke up later than planned, which set off a chain reaction that left me breathless until I finally dropped my son off at daycare. As I trudged down the path to the parking lot, clarity began to dawn on me amidst the chaos.
That’s when the anxiety kicked in. Even before I reached my car, my mind began racing. Did I remember to tell him I love him? I think I forgot. He gave me kisses, but those words may have slipped my mind. What kind of mother am I?
Intellectually, I know he feels my love. The rational side of me insists that he understands, yet those anxious thoughts continue to swirl. I shouldn’t let these feelings overwhelm me; I shouldn’t let my insecurities morph into unnecessary worry. But still, I can’t help it.
Once I’m in the car, I call my partner, feeling the weight of my worry. I confess my fears about not saying “I love you,” and he reassures me with the very words I needed to hear: “He knows you love him.” At that moment, I manage to momentarily lift the burden until the next wave of anxiety strikes.
I am a mom who worries, and it’s exhausting.
My concerns range from valid to obsessive and utterly irrational. I fret over how I spoke to my son, worrying that he may remember my harsh tone. I worry about his meals, whether he ate enough, and if my chores made him feel neglected. I question whether I put him in timeout when he just needed a hug.
When I check on him in his crib multiple times, it’s not just a routine; it’s a compulsion to ensure his breathing is steady, to see that his hands and feet are safe between the bars, and to make sure he’s not too close to his pillow.
I find myself ruminating on potential disasters throughout the day. What if he breaks free from my grip and runs into traffic? I always hold his hand tightly. What if he falls off the slide? He’s two and strong, yet broken bones can happen. And what if I forget to tell him I love him, and that’s the last moment we share? Logically, I know these thoughts are unnecessary, yet I can’t seem to control them.
As an anxious mom, my mind feels like a battlefield. Energy that could be spent enjoying time with my child is instead consumed by battling worries that threaten to overwhelm me. It’s not just unhealthy; it’s utterly draining. I dwell on past mistakes, replaying conversations and events in my mind, worried that I’ve said or done the wrong thing. I hold onto errors my son won’t even remember, scolding myself long after he’s forgotten.
I recognize how irrational this sounds to those who don’t experience anxiety. Sometimes, I even question my own sanity. It seems absurd to worry about worrying!
I wish I could let life unfold without scrutinizing every detail. I long for the ability to turn off my racing thoughts or at least dial them down to a manageable level. But I haven’t figured that out yet. However, I’m determined to find a way—for my son.
I don’t want my anxiety to become his inheritance. I know a day will come when he picks up on my stress, sees the worry etched on my face, and might think there’s something to fear. I refuse to pass this burden onto him. He deserves a warrior mom, not a worrier mom. That’s the goal I’m striving for, even if I haven’t reached it yet. For now, he has to make do with me, the worrier mom. Despite my worries, I love being the mom my son has made me, and he knows this—even if I sometimes forget to say it.
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In summary, while I grapple with the weight of my worries daily, my love for my son remains steadfast. I strive to evolve from a worrier mom into a warrior mom, and I hope to instill strength in my child, rather than anxiety.
Keyphrase: Worrier mom striving to be a warrior
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