Lessons in Fear

I was sitting watching the sunrise, trying to put a few words down before the day got away.

It was quiet...

I love quiet.

I have two children.

I love my children.

It is infrequent however, that these two loves share the same space.

There I was, peacefully contemplating, watching the sunrise, claiming my quiet at 6:00 a.m.. Suddenly, noisily, they made it known they were awake and insisted I tend to their needs. They are not babies at this point. They are 6 and 7 years old

I set my boundary. Which is new and not easy for me. They did not have to go back to sleep, but they did have to entertain themselves in their room until 7:00.

When I left, they were playing Uno under the tent we had constructed the night before with blankets and chairs and pillows. It was a win-win. 8 minutes later shrieks of horror pulled me out of my peaceful place to utter panic. I listen for a half a second more to be certain of my need to intervene. My daughter's shrieks have the same pitch whether she is playing, or scared, or in pain. It’s hard to discern. However, when her screams got higher and louder and she began to plead for someone to help her, I was visualizing blood for sure;possibly a broken bone.

I am assuming, as I bound down the stairs to tend to my surely bloody child, that the calamity that has happened based on her cries and wails, will require great fortitude on my part to handle. I am the mother after all...

When I get to her, a frantic once over determines there is no blood.

"What's wrong?!

She continues to cry.

“What happened?!"

More wails, big crocodile tears, incoherent words...

"What is wrong!?!!"

Her brother, that is quiet and calm through all of this, obviously not guilty of having inflicted harm, tells me with an eye-roll that a ladybug had crawled on her.

A ladybug...

I am not kidding. A damn ladybug...

Test 1: Be prepared to deal with blood and guts.

Test 2: Do not overreact to the fact that her overreacting caused your body to go into full crisis mode.

Test 3: This is a tough one, adrenaline flowing, supermom cape on, now nauseous and pissed, I now have to try and make this a teaching moment. UGH. I tried. Really, I tried...

I found the ladybug, held it in my hand.

"Look at it! It is a tiny little bug!" I said louder and more harshly than I care to admit. I felt justified as I did so, the adrenaline after all. She took me out of my quiet place for this? Not to mention that I was trying to soothe and "teach" her as she continued with the crying and wailing and the unnecessary drama.

She is pulling away desperately like I am holding a poisonous snake. I explain how even I, who is not a fan of bugs, am not afraid. "Look Olivia it’s ok – it’s harmless."

She will have nothing to do with it.

She is committed to her fear.

She wants it.

The fear.

I wonder why?

I am struck by her unwillingness to confront it.

She wanted to stay the girl who is terrified of ladybugs.

She kept her story that ladybugs were terrifying blood sucking villains that were her nemesis. And so it is for her.

But if she would just look at it, the thing she feared so.

If she held it, studied it, understood it, she would be forced to change her picture.

She could live free. Free from the fear of ladybugs anyway.

On another morning that Summer I was sitting on a step made of railroad ties and sand. There were tall grasses on both sides of the stairs that led down to the beach. I was taking in the view, waiting for the sun to crest on the horizon, sipping my coffee.

Out of nowhere a memory filled my mind of the time someone screamed walking up these very steps, having seen a long but harmless snake slither to the other side of the tall grass.

Simply from the memory – my body reacts.

I could feel my heart rate increase.

My urge was to flee.

From a memory.

There was no snake near me now, but my body was reacting as if there was. IT wanted to run.

Instead, I forced my body to continue to sit as I talked myself through the facts. Yes, there had been a snake in this spot. It was harmless. Would you be willing to give up witnessing this sunrise to give in to fear? Fear of what? I let myself imagine the snake being close. Nope. I'm not moving, I decided. I am not going to allow the "what if's" keep me from this moment. This is what I captured that morning.

Having chosen to stand in the fear and face it - I was rewarded with this.

Face our fears - or choose to miss the magnificent. I am getting better at standing in it, pressing through it, enduring the perceived pain for the prize.

I just don't know how to teach it to my daughter...