As a child, I attended a Catholic school where regular confessions to the priest were a part of life. I vividly remember the guilt I felt over receiving three checkmarks for performing unauthorized cartwheels during gym class, which resulted in an assignment to write a term paper on hockey—something I still struggle to comprehend. The relief I felt when absolved of my “sinful” cartwheels was profound.
There’s something undeniably liberating about sharing a confession, whether it’s with a colleague, a friend, or a loved one. It allows us to shed a weight off our shoulders and often brings the comfort of knowing we’re not alone in our struggles.
Today, I have a confession of my own: I am an anxious mother.
My worries extend far beyond the typical concerns of motherhood—playing in traffic or handling sharp objects. I’m a champion at worrying. For instance, I frequently fret over whether I may have exposed my daughter to harmful toxins during pregnancy and how that might impact her future. Did I drink too much caffeine that one time? What if there’s too much fluoride in our water, preventing her from getting into her dream college? Even if she’s excelling in advanced classes now, I can’t help but worry about potential risks.
While many laugh at the conflicting dietary advice we receive—Are eggs good or bad? Is bread back in the clear?—I find myself spiraling into anxiety about the right choices. I fear that one misstep could lead my child to face autoimmune issues due to my lack of knowledge, like which type of lettuce to buy.
Last spring, my 12-year-old was in excellent shape after basketball season. When I asked my husband if she seemed too thin, he reassured me that she looked fantastic and was just benefiting from her rigorous workout routine. Yet, I still worried and resorted to buying her a massive bag of candy, hoping to add some weight, only to later fret over what chemicals might be lurking in those sweets.
Deep down, I wish to conquer these worries. It’s not just parenting that occupies my mind; I find myself burdened with thoughts about the economy, global issues, politics, and even the well-being of aging relatives. At times, I even indulge in anxiety about apocalyptic scenarios.
I likely carry enough anxiety for an entire community, so if you’re also a chronic worrier, rest assured, I’ve got your back. Although I know I might never be completely free of these concerns, I recognize that learning to let go of some could be beneficial.
Throughout my life, I have attempted various methods to reduce my anxiety—medications, yoga, meditation, exercise (though not consistently), dietary changes, and journaling. Yet, I remain an avid worrier. If individuals like me don’t find a way to manage this anxiety, it can overshadow our joy. I often look back and realize that during moments that should have been savored—like watching a sunset at the beach—I was preoccupied with worries, such as whether we had applied enough sunscreen.
I take solace in knowing that from the moment our children are born (when we spend sleepless nights checking to ensure they’re breathing) to their college years (when we lie awake worrying about their safety), countless other mothers are sharing in this experience.
To fellow extreme worriers, please raise your hands and let me know I’m not alone. Today, I’ll unwind with a glass of wine—but first, I need to briefly fret about sulfates.
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In summary, while the worries of motherhood may feel overwhelming, I find comfort in knowing that many of us share these struggles. We must strive to manage our anxieties and not let them overshadow the joys of parenting.