be prepared for the bad stuff to drop into your lap!”
Amy was right. I am always getting ahead of things, jumping to conclusions, and creating new problems instead of just waiting to address problems if and when they actually arrive. And if there is only a 50 percent chance that what I worry about might happen, then there is also a 50 percent chance the opposite might happen, so why do I always choose to give the negative outcome all of my time and energy?
On the rare occasions when the stuff I’ve worried about actually ended up coming true, all my worrying ahead of time did nothing to help. When I was broke, did worrying get food on my family’s table? Nope. When I thought I was miscarrying, did my worry help that pregnancy thrive? Nope. But we trick ourselves into thinking our worry is protective or preventative, that working through every possible scenario somehow prepares us for the worst. But our negativity does not immunize us against the fallout or stress of the worst-case scenarios when they arrive. We live in this pretend horrible world, just so that we might avoid being surprised if something terrible happens, which so often leads us to missing out on all of the good stuff that is right in front of us.
My constant worrying also means that I unintentionally fall into the trap of parenting out of fear. It’s easy to get caught in that with young kids, but it’s even easier to fall victim to when parenting teenagers. The scary parts of parenting aren’t optional. That’s a fact. But constantly worrying about our kids’ futures won’t change their futures, though it will make us miserable in the present.
For years, I used to dread the Fourth of July. Here’s what it looked like from my perspective: I’d spend the day cooking whatever red, white, and blue side dish I signed up to bring, show up at friend’s backyard party, and pretend I’m totally into this day. Then the fireworks would start and I’d freak out. But only on the inside. On the outside, I’d act like a totally normal, carefree human enjoying this happy, happy day. I’d kindly excuse myself from the backyard, faking a headache, and quietly slip inside the house until the fireworks were over. See, anyone who has experienced war will tell you that fireworks, unsurprisingly, sound exactly like other, less festive kinds of explosions. No matter how many years have passed since the last time I heard actual grenades as a child during the war in Croatia, as soon as the fireworks show starts on the Fourth of July, I tense up. Fireworks give me anxiety, a feeling of uneasiness, an urge to run to the nearest basement. What is in my head is powerful.
Then, a few years ago, it finally hit me: instead of hiding inside, I need to look at what is actually in front of me. If I see the fireworks, maybe I can disconnect the sounds from the war and be present for what is really happening. And you know what? It works! Now when I hear fireworks starting, instead of running away from them, I run toward them. I immediately go outside, looking for them, so that I can see them for what they truly are. When we live inside the what-ifs and our memories of every bad thing that has happened in our past or every bad thing that could happen in the future, we miss the possibilities for joy and beauty. Though there is a lot we parents can worry about, if we’re willing to get out of our little dread-filled cocoon and keep our eyes wide open, we’ll find there’s actually more to celebrate than there is to fear.
There is one more complication to parenting from a place of fear: our children learn from watching how we live. What am I teaching my kids about fear when I let it have so much power in my life? Our kids sense our fear; they see our clenched jaws and sweat and will pick up on and mirror whatever energy we project. With my teenager Luka, in particular, I have often found myself approaching him to have a conversation consumed with worry before either of us has even opened our mouth. The negative, stressful tone this sets for our conversation is not only unfair to