Guilt is a heavy burden, one that often sneaks in quietly, wrapping itself around our thoughts and emotions. As a mother, this feeling can be as palpable as the overwhelming love we hold for our children or the frustration that occasionally surfaces. Lately, that guilt has been weighing heavily on me. My brilliant daughter is navigating the tumultuous waters of anxiety, and I can see her struggling. The telltale signs are there: stomachaches, biting her fingers, restless nights, and racing heartbeats. And amidst my attempts to help her, the thoughts consuming me are, “This is my fault,” and “I’m only making things worse.”
I can almost hear you shaking your head, saying, “It’s not your fault.” You’d be right in many ways; anxiety is often rooted in our brain’s wiring and not a matter of blame. My daughter has inherited my tendency to worry, a trait that is both a gift and a burden. Yet, even with this genetic predisposition, I can’t help but feel that there have been external factors amplifying her struggles, circumstances that I have inadvertently fanned into flames.
In my mind, I replay moments of when I had to wean her before she was ready. I remember the five weeks I spent in the hospital after an unexpected health issue, leaving her with a void during a critical time. The early birth of her brother required my attention, and I often felt torn between responsibilities. Could I have altered those situations? Probably not. Can I be blamed for them? Certainly not. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that these experiences might have lasting effects.
Perhaps all parents grapple with such worries, especially when managing multiple children. It’s part of learning sacrifice and empathy, I suppose. Now, I watch my daughter—fearless in some aspects yet trembling in others—and I want to shower her with encouragement, to fill her mind with affirmations of her strength and intelligence. Yet, I can’t always be there when she needs it most. I’m not present during her reading sessions or spelling tests.
In my efforts to support her, I hug her tightly, offer her healthy snacks, and have agreed to dyslexia testing—yet there’s always a nagging worry that she might not hear the love I express, that she might interpret my affection with an asterisk of doubt.
On this rainy Monday, as I’ve signed paperwork and engaged in meetings with teachers and administrators, I feel a blend of hope and fear. We are creating a supportive network of caring adults, determined to ensure she never feels inadequate. Still, I worry she might slip through the cracks, having learned to rely on herself throughout these formative years.
These fears, however, do not reflect my beliefs. I don’t truly believe she will fall through those supportive links. I don’t believe she will grow up feeling inadequate or burdened by anxiety. I worry about it, yes, but I don’t believe it. Perhaps this is something we can discuss together—differentiating between worry and belief, truth and anxiety, faith and despair. Our past shapes us, but it doesn’t define our future. A stomachache from school challenges doesn’t equate to a lack of intelligence.
I hope she realizes my love comes without conditions. I might not always have the right answers, and I may get frustrated, but my commitment to her well-being remains steadfast. I will always seek solutions and ask questions. We are on this journey together.
I aim to silence the guilt that whispers in my ear and focus on amplifying the positive messages she needs to hear. She must learn that the world is full of possibilities. Whoever controls the bellows can shape the flames around them.
Together, we will learn to manage the bellows, not to stoke anxiety but to create a buoyant atmosphere for growth. We will run towards challenges, not away from them, embracing the journey as superheroes in slow motion.
For more resources on navigating parenting and support, check out this informative guide on pregnancy and home insemination, or explore this insightful article about postpartum planning.
In the end, we are learning and growing together, and I am determined to keep the flames of anxiety at bay while nurturing her spirit.