Yesterday was just like any other day. I overslept, which set off a chain reaction that had me rushing around in a flurry. It wasn’t until I finally dropped my son off at daycare that I could pause and take a breath. As I walked towards the parking lot, my mind shifted from reacting to contemplating.
That’s when the anxiety kicked in. Even before I reached my car, my mind began racing. Did I tell him I love him? I can’t remember. He gave me kisses, but did I say those three crucial words? What kind of mother am I?
Logically, I know my son understands my love for him. The rational part of my brain reassures me, yet the persistent worry still creeps in. I shouldn’t let my insecurities take hold, but it’s a battle I often lose.
Once I got to my car, I called my partner, feeling the heaviness of my thoughts. I confessed my fears of forgetting to express my love. He echoed my own reassurances, “He knows you love him,” which momentarily lifted the weight of my worry—until the next wave hit.
I’m an anxious mom, and I despise it.
My worries vary from reasonable concerns to all-consuming fears. I fret over whether I was too harsh in my tone, whether my son is eating enough during meals, and if he felt neglected while I was preoccupied with household chores. I even worry that I placed him in timeout when all he really needed was a comforting hug.
At night, I find myself peeking into his crib multiple times, questioning whether his breathing is steady, if his limbs are safe between the bars, or if his face is too close to the pillow.
I obsess over potential dangers that may never happen. 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 strong and resilient, but those thoughts still invade my mind. What if I didn’t say I love him, and that’s the last moment we share? I know I shouldn’t let myself spiral into those thoughts, but I do.
Being an anxious mom feels like a constant war in my mind. The energy I could spend enjoying time with my child is instead consumed by battling worries that threaten to overwhelm me. It’s not just unhealthy; it’s utterly exhausting.
I fixate on what I should have done differently, replaying conversations and second-guessing my actions long after my son has forgotten them. I cling to the mistakes that only I remember, berating myself for things he will likely never think about. I realize it sounds irrational to those who don’t share these worries, and there are moments I genuinely question my sanity.
Isn’t it ridiculous? I worry that I’m worrying too much! I wish I could simply experience the day without overanalyzing every moment. I long for a way to quiet my thoughts, to simplify my mind, if only for his sake. He deserves a mother who can be strong rather than a bundle of anxiety.
I know there will come a time when my son will notice my unease, feeling the tension in the air and wondering if there’s something to be concerned about too. I refuse to let him inherit my worries—he deserves better.
He needs a warrior mom, not a worrier. That’s the goal I’m striving for, even if I’m not there yet. For now, he has me—his anxious mom. Despite my flaws, I love the role that motherhood has shaped me into, and deep down, I believe he knows that.
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Summary:
This article shares the journey of a mother grappling with anxiety and the desire to be a strong, reassuring presence for her child. She navigates daily worries and fears, all while striving to overcome her anxious tendencies. The narrative highlights the importance of emotional resilience in parenting and the struggle to balance love with the weight of worry.