I attempted to reason with her, a classic adult move that yielded no results. For children, once a fear sets in, it’s impervious to logical arguments. So, I shifted my approach, tapping into my own childhood memories for insight.
At her age, I was petrified of bears. I genuinely believed that one would invade my home in suburban Maplewood, and I would wake up to find a massive bear head looming over my top bunk, ready to devour me. It didn’t matter that there had never been a bear sighting in Maplewood—my imagination had no bounds. They were out there, lurking alongside those eerie moving mannequins. The sheer absurdity of a bear somehow unlocking my door didn’t calm my fears whatsoever.
As I grew older, my anxiety morphed into a different form—I became terrified of a small pendulum clock hanging in our kitchen. It wasn’t an imposing grandfather clock; just a simple wall clock. Yet, every night, while I lay in bed, I was convinced that the ticking sound was creeping closer. I never stopped to ponder how a tiny clock could harm me, even if it did arrive at my bedside. Perhaps it was an unconscious acknowledgment that time itself would, in the end, be my ultimate adversary.
My daughter’s fears mirror my own from years ago. She believes that mannequin is moving, that the clock is inching toward her, that bears have gained entry to our home. These fears feel incredibly tangible.
Even as an adult, I grapple with my own anxieties. I worry that a clerical error at the bank will somehow lead to losing our house. I fear that a faceless corporation is plotting against me. I’m also concerned about affording college and weddings for my three daughters—well, that’s less of a fear and more of a reality.
A friend of mine harbors a genuine fear of space debris crashing down from above. He’s also excessively cautious about the West Nile Virus, applying bug spray religiously, even though he rarely steps outside. His fears, while amusing to me, are very real in his mind. Likewise, my unease regarding large companies feels valid despite countless problem-free interactions. Even my mother-in-law’s dread of glass elevators plummeting to the ground holds weight for her.
Perhaps fear is an inherent part of our existence, a remnant of our ancestors’ fight-or-flight instincts. Some fears fade into the background, while new ones spring forth. I no longer lie awake terrified of bears invading my home—unless, of course, that bear is disguised as a loan officer in a blazer. Digital clocks have successfully eliminated my pendulum phobia.
Instead of applying logic or reason—methods that often fail with children—I chose to acknowledge her fear. With the help of her older sister, we adorned the mannequin in a ridiculous ensemble that made my youngest giggle. Scarves, a princess dress, a feather boa, and glasses with silly spring-loaded eyes transformed the mannequin into a humorous sight. Who knew dress-up could be so effective?
For several nights, my daughter sought out the mannequin, beaming whenever she spotted it. Success! That is, until last night, when a shout echoed from down the hall: “Mommy! Daddy! I hear scratchy noises coming from my closet.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s probably just a bear.”
This article was originally published on July 20, 2015.
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In summary, childhood fears can often reflect adult anxieties, and rather than dismissing them, embracing creativity and humor can help in overcoming those fears.