As a child, I found myself at a Fourth of July celebration in Joyce Kilmer Park in the South Bronx, eagerly waiting for the fireworks show from Yankee Stadium. My father, as was often the case, was intoxicated. On this particular occasion, his drinking was exacerbated by his PTSD, as the sounds of fireworks triggered memories of explosions from his military service. A drinking buddy of his arrived with fireworks, which typically would have made my father uneasy, but the alcohol seemed to numb his fears just enough.
In our makeshift setup, we lit what looked like long incense sticks, placed them in a soda bottle, and scurried a few feet away before they went off. A few times, the bottle tipped over, and I rushed back to upright it, not fully grasping the danger involved. It’s chilling to realize how close I came to injury, yet my father and his friend laughed it off, lost in their own world of inebriation.
Such chaotic incidents marked my upbringing, fueled by my father’s struggle with alcohol and PTSD. I often reflect on how fortunate I was to escape unscathed. While some moments were fun – like lighting fireworks – others were terrifying, marked by my father’s violent outbursts. Growing up in that environment left me feeling unsafe, and when I became a parent, I was determined to create a secure haven for my child. I immersed myself in research, reading books, attending classes, and organizing my thoughts meticulously.
At one point, I even considered purchasing a machine to analyze metal toxicity in our home. Fortunately, my husband’s bewildered reaction helped me regain perspective. Once our child arrived, I created exhaustive lists for the pediatrician to ensure every detail was accounted for. That year, I opted against a Christmas tree, fearing microscopic insects could trigger allergies in our newborn. Clearly, I had spent too much time online.
Navigating the complexities of new parenthood was daunting, especially with the multitude of conflicting advice available. My anxiety stemmed from a desire to avoid my father’s mistakes; I wanted to eliminate any identified dangers from our lives.
A few months in, I encountered the concept of “lawnmower parenting,” where parents clear obstacles from their children’s paths, leading me to reevaluate my overly protective nature. An enlightening moment came when my husband showed me a video of us at a block party. Hearing myself incessantly urging our child to stay close made me realize I was overreacting, especially when I noticed how far we were from the road. Understanding that I needed to allow him more freedom was a pivotal realization.
Though I still find myself concerned about various small matters, like the food he eats or potential toxins in our surroundings, I am more aware now. I am committed to breaking the cycle of my past influencing my parenting style.
This journey is ongoing, but I am determined to foster a nurturing environment that gives my child the freedom to explore and grow.
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Summary
The author reflects on their tumultuous childhood shaped by a father’s PTSD and alcoholism, leading to a determination to create a secure environment for their own child. Through self-awareness and learning about parenting styles, they strive to break the cycle of fear and overprotection.