Myth
"I Will Help My Children
Outrgrow Their Fears"
When your children are young, they experience many moments of irrational fear. Personally, I have given hundreds of midnight speeches where the moral of my story ends with "There's nothing to be afraid of because monsters are not real."
The speech varies of course. Instead of monsters, it could be the Boogieman, witches, carnivorous dinosaurs, enormous, flesh-eating spiders, Dracula, mummies, zombies, Godzilla, King Kong, or any number of other universally scary characters with the potential to nurture childhood nightmares.
One night, my middle daughter woke with a nightmare. I came into her room, settled her down, and asked her the ever-risky question.
"What are you afraid of, Honey?"
This particular night, it was Venus Flytraps. She had caught the very end of Little Shop of Horrors on cable TV that afternoon, and had simultaneously been studying plant life in school, and of course, put the two together. She concluded that Venus Flytraps were going to sneak into her room at night and swallow her whole. She also had experienced an extra dose of panic when she had to visit the bathroom and become fearful that an ivy plant we had on the counter was going to strangle her.
By the time I reached her, she was so afraid of all plant life in general that I had to promise I would immediately remove all greenery in our home.
After a good deal of tears and finally just lying down with her until she drifted off, I was able to go back to bed. Of course that was only after removing every ficus tree, peace plant, palm, fern and lily from our home and relocating them on our front porch.
The next morning, in the light of day, my daughter laughed over her dream, and stated clearly that she was no longer afraid of plants. After she left for school I skeptically brought in our miscellaneous houseplants, and hoped that the nightmare had been laid to rest.
That night as I was just drifting off comfortably settled in my bed, the door to my room was flung open to reveal my middle daughter in hysterical tears. She could barely form a sentence.
"You...you...put back...the ivy!"
Now, any parent knows there are times when, even though your child is incredibly upset, what they say is so amusing it is almost impossible not to laugh. As insensitive as it may seem, this was one of those times. So, without even being aware of it, I went to hug her and accidentally let out a chuckle. My daughter looked at me incredulously and said what most kids say.
It's not funny!"
Again, having very little self-control at one o'clock in the morning, I stifle a giggle.
She, in turn, becomes more adamant.
"It's not funny!!!"
"I know!" I say, now on the brink of full-blown laughter, mentally picturing our 4-inch ivy plant dragging her out the window. "I'm sorry, Honey...."
The look she gives me is so serious, that I break into short bursts of silent laughter while I try to cover my mouth so she won't see. She of course notices tears coming down my cheeks, and that I haven't taken a breath for a full thirty seconds.
"You're still laughing! I told you it's not funny! You're being mean!"
Well there's nothing that sobers you up quicker than being told that you're a mean mommy. So I settle down and get myself under control, and hug her.
"I'm really sorry for laughing, Honey. It's just that you startled me with the door and I was still half-asleep and...."
Well, she forgave me for my insensitivity at that point, and after the familiar speech about "nothing to be afraid of" and promises to stay with her, she settled down and fell asleep.
The plant dreams continued over the course of a few weeks until, like most irrational childhood fears, they simply went away. There was no big announcement about their departure, no important realization my daughter came to, the dreams just ceased.
I decide to go into a thorough explanation of why the balloon scared me, but this just induces a full-fledged riot of laughter. I smile at her as I get up from her bed.
"Well, it's obvious you're okay now. I'll leave you to get to sleep, Silly!"
As I get up, my daughter quickly sobers up.
"Don't leave Mommy! I'm still scared!"
"But, Honey, you're okay now. You were laughing. See, we learned a good lesson out of all this, that something can scare us only if we let it. But if we laugh about it, then the fears can go away."
While my speech sounds reasonable in words, practical application is much harder, and after seeing her intense, pleading expression, I climb back into bed and tell her I will stay with her.
We lie silently for a little while, until my daughter leans over and whispers in my ear.
"What else are you scared of, Mommy, besides balloons?"
I want to say that the balloon had just startled me, not actually scared me. I want to tell her that her big brave Mom wasn't really scared of anything. In reality, though, that isn't true. I am afraid sometimes. Some fears are rational; others are just plain silly. Still, at my age, it's sometimes hard to separate the two.
"I'm afraid of thunder sometimes," I say quietly.
"No way! So am I! What else?"
"Spiders."
"Me too! I'm afraid of wasps, bees and yellow jackets too."
"I don't like them either."
My daughter moves over and cuddles up to me.
"I'm so glad I'm not the only one afraid, Mom."
That night, my daughter finally drifted off to sleep, and I lay there thinking about fear. I have no magic potion that will ever cure her of all her ghostly fantasies, or foolish nighttime trepidations. I certainly possess no potion that will cure her for life.
Whether a human being is nine or 90, I'd be willing to bet they have something they are afraid of. Lying there, the only thing I knew for sure was that for that night, for that one night, I was her magic potion. The one thing that made it okay for her to fall asleep was knowing that I was there to keep her safe, and the thing that helped her to feel better was knowing that I too had fears. That I was as vulnerable as she.
I would venture to say that throughout my daughter's life she'll grow in and out of fears, regardless of my attempts to calm them. Whether she's nine or 90, what she may need most is someone willing to stay with her when she's afraid, and remind her that she is not alone. I wish her that comfort, fervently, at some moment in the distant future when fear closes in and I can't be there.
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Motherhood
Exposed
Chapter 2 "The Birds"
Motherhood
Exposed
Chapter 5 "Disorganization and Duct Tape"
A few months later at the typical witching hour, I was awakened by what sounded like crying. I went to my middle daughter's room and found her tearful and frightened sitting up in her bed.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm scared."
"What are you scared of?"
Well this time it was The Sandman. A friend at school had told her that The Sandman comes in your room at night and sprinkles you with sand until you fall asleep. Sounds harmless enough, except my daughter had gone through a bad incident that summer at the beach when she had received a face full of sand that had gotten in her eyes. So now she was frightened of not only sand in general, but of some strange man sneaking into her bedroom at night—a man carrying buckets of sand to throw in her face.
It didn't help that we have a sandbox in our backyard, right below her bedroom window, a fixture she strongly felt was the possible origin of The Sandman. So I started in on the familiar speech.
"Sweetie, The Sandman is not real. He can't hurt you because he's not real. He's like a character you might read about in a fairy tale. He was just made up in someone's imagination, and imaginary things can never hurt you."
While I spoke, I helped my daughter back under the covers, and told her that I would sit with her until she felt better. I moved over to the side of her bed, and while doing so stepped on something lightweight and squishy. Instantly I heard a loud "POP!" and was so startled I let out a yell and threw the stuffed animal I was holding straight up into the air. I looked down to discover that I had stepped on a balloon my daughter had brought home from a birthday party the week before.
Now, I am not a fan of balloons in general, so after shrieking, I put my hand over my mouth and let out a relieved breath. This is the exact moment that I glance over at my daughter, and notice her hand is over her mouth and her eyes have a half-glazed expression. Thinking she is frightened again, I start over the ongoing process of settling her down.
"It's okay, Honey. It was just a balloon." She makes no reply, and now I start to worry that I am going to have to grab my pillow and make it a sleepover. But there is something strange about her expression, which leads me to wonder.
"Honey? Honey, can you answer me? Are you okay?"
This is the instant when I detect a slight vibration rumbling through her mattress, and at closer observation I notice the corners of her eyes are turned up.
She is not afraid. She is laughing at me.
"Are you laughing?" There is no answer; however, the shaking of the bed becomes more intense.
"You are! You're laughing at me!"
At this point there is a series of stifled snorts mingled with short bursts of laughter.
"Oh, so it's funny when Mommy gets scared?"
"WellÉit was just aÉballoon!"
"Oh
I see, plants and monsters are scary, but balloons are just plain funny."
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