Watching Fear

I love this photo. It could be a throwaway from a long weekend getaway, but it means something to me. Seeing Stella compare her bear paw stamp with Mama and Papa, checking carefully to see that we are, in fact, a family of strong and powerful bears, demonstrates that while Stella is an intensely bright, verbal and sassy little sprite, she is still a tiny little peanut who is just starting to process what it means to live in this crazy big world.

And the world is bigger now that Stella is approaching two. People are bigger. Experiences feel bigger. And emotions are most definitely bigger.

And my goodness, it’s so devastatingly heartbreaking to watch Stella experience fear. Actually, I should be more explicit. It’s tough to watch her feel fear about things like strangers or new environments or the dark. But I sort of get all that intuitively. In fact, I expect those fears to some degree. She’s a tiny peanut, and strangers and new places can feel overwhelming. I get it. But watching her experience fear about things that are not classically scary – namely her own body – is excruciating. Out of respect for Stella and her future self, I’ll remain vague. But I will share – because I frankly need to as Stella’s mama in the now – that Stella is going through a pretty normal stage where her own strong and beautiful body doesn’t feel super safe. Yeah, it’s all normal and developmentally acceptable, but it’s unsettling nonetheless.

I don’t know. Perhaps we’re starting to hone in on a potty training window (or whatever newfangled name they have for it now) or maybe this wee one just has a really modest sense of self. Whatever the reason, she’s struggling and her struggles have taken the form of fear.

And it’s breaking my heart.

The good thing is that I now know enough as a parent that this phase will pass. When I step back a bit, I see that Stella is a confident and courageous kid who readily dives into a world she already recognizes as beautiful and fascinating. I suppose that’s partly why this has been so tough for me and the Papa; it’s tough to watch someone with such natural bravado crumble with anxiety. It’s not like we expect her to rationally tackle fear before she’s even two. I guess… well, I guess it just sucks to watch as the bad of the world's good-and-bad slips into her consciousness.

Lately, I’ve been reading and talking about toddlers and fear. And I have to admit that it’s been totally frustrating. While everyone has been perfectly lovely and genuine with their suggestions and support, nothing seems to be helping much. Of course, that’s when I realize that my sole job right now is to love Stella fiercely and obviously so that she sees, hears, feels and just simply knows my presence as her guardian is unwaveringly constant, even when – or especially when – she feels unlovable or scary herself. From petulant tantrums to sweet cuddles, my role is to love her passionately and show her how capable and strong she truly is amidst the stable and uncertain.

I’m gathering that fear is a natural and innate part of parenting. I’m happy to say that I’m not often gripped by fear myself. Sure, I have moments like any other parent when I find myself imagining the unimaginable. But I always force my way out of those, because what purpose do they serve? But I honestly think I’d rather be riddled with fear myself than watch Stella run her tiny self through the gauntlet. Mamas love their kids endlessly. And even in our most fatigued and weary meltdown moments, we want them to be safe, and we want them to feel safe. It’s really quite simple.

And if stamping our hands with a bear paw print for the next six hundred and fifty three days means Stella will feel strong and capable, then this mama is buying a barrel of ink pads.

I still have no real answers other than these: breathing deeply really does help diffuse my tension in those cruddy, crappy moments, our fabulous moments far outweigh the crummy moments, this tough phase will pass like all other tough phases, countless other hurdles stand before us as parents and, yet again, all I can do is love my daughter with unabashed and gentle openness. And while these answers don’t really do much for “solving” the tedious details of our little but significant-to-us problems, they do nudge me back from the eye of the storm and remind me of the grander schemes of love and patience that serve as guiding beacons on this ridiculously intense ride as a parent. And that, in and of itself, genuinely helps.