On a bright, sunny day a couple of weeks ago, I had a stark realization about the profound impact of the ongoing pandemic and the necessary social distancing on my mental well-being and parenting abilities. It became clear just how much these unprecedented times have altered my perception of reality and my capacity to engage with my children.
If you were to describe my parenting approach, you might label it as nearly free-range. Living in coastal Maine, we encourage our kids to embrace their adventurous spirits. They are energetic and curious, often exploring the rocky shoreline. On that day, with the weather being idyllic, our family was primed for a wonderful outing, or so I thought.
As my two-and-a-half-year-old son climbed over the rocks, I noticed a shift in my usual comfort with safe risks. When he began descending, a wave of panic surged through me. I found myself screaming in terror, paralyzed by an irrational fear of him falling into the ocean from what I perceived to be a dangerous height. My husband, keeping a watchful eye, reassured me as he checked our son’s safety. He then calmly guided me to the very spot that had ignited my fear. What I saw was shocking: a mere six-inch rock, not a cliff at all.
Overcome with emotion, I felt tears stream down my face as I struggled to catch my breath. It took me a while to process this incident, but it highlighted a crucial truth — the impact of trauma. A wise friend of mine, Clara Jenkins, once mentioned how any feeling of unsafety can be internalized as trauma. I realized my reaction was a clear indication that my sympathetic nervous system was in overdrive, responding to perceived threats that weren’t really there.
I know I’m not alone in this struggle. Many parents are navigating daily life, seeing dangers that simply don’t exist. The burden of holding space for our families during such turbulent times is immense and unsustainable. The ongoing public health crisis feels akin to tectonic tension, striking at the core of our lives. This uncertainty exacerbates stress in areas that may have already been precarious.
It’s essential to create space for vulnerability and to acknowledge when we need to break down. Otherwise, we risk a total collapse—an earthquake that shakes us to our core. So, I share this story as a reminder: it’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to cry until you can breathe again. And most importantly, be gentle with yourself when what you perceived as a threat turns out to be nothing more than a monster lurking in the closet.
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Summary:
In times of uncertainty, it’s crucial to recognize our emotional responses and the potential impacts of trauma on our parenting. By sharing personal experiences, we can normalize vulnerability and remind ourselves that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Acknowledging these feelings can lead to healing and understanding.
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