on: Irrational Fear

Irrationally fearful.  A state of mind unable to see reality. Dwelling on the worst-case scenario for each person and circumstance. Logic loses ground, as anxiety takes the upper hand. Imagination dominates the mind and invades the extremities of the body. All convincing - bad is coming.

Let me put meat on those invisible bones for you to understand what I’m trying to describe. I have recently been watching two emergency room type dramas. ER (flashback to the 90 when mom used to watch ER and I have vague recollections of seeing snippets) and New Amsterdam (a current drama on Amazon Prime) both provide abundant examples of all the split second moments that can change a life. Car accidents. Heart attacks. Cancer.

This week, one of those moments occurred on New Amsterdam. A 9-year-old boy – who, moments prior to his hospital visit was running in a park – was diagnosed with a disease that would ravage the muscles in his body, leaving him unable to live longer than 30 years. In a split second, a doctor’s prognosis completely rearranged the life of this boy’s small family.

I was completely aware of the fictional nature of the TV show. But under no illusion that this scene was unusual. People – children – are given life changing news every day in hospitals. That is the fact that fuels my fear. At any point, Hudson could break his neck. He would never be able to play football, climb mountains, create murals, or give me cwtches (Welsh for cuddles). Isaiah’s mind, although bright and genius, is fragile. Maybe tomorrow, he will hit his head falling down the stairs. His fiery personality suddenly subdued. His adding and subtracting screeching to a halt. And my baby, Jesse, whose lungs were so weak at birth. What if he contracts a chest infection and his lungs, for some unknown reason, can’t handle the virus?

“What ifs” are endless and produce a fear in my bones that I find hard to shake. Anytime I find myself going down a rabbit hole of possibilities, I quickly call my kids to come for hugs and kisses. Or sneak into their bedrooms whilst they sleep, and quietly check that I can see their chests contracting with breath. Freshly aware of my heart-bursting love for them.

As much as I appreciate the awareness of my love for them, I hate the anxiety it takes to get there. I despise closing my eyes and creating future scenes of tragedy.

I reckon I’m not alone in this irrational fear. That others must fear the loss of a partner, parent, friend, child, or even self. Not necessarily loss of life, but loss of the person you once knew. Could the reason be protection? We want to guard ourselves from hurt if it comes in the form of loss. And feel it will be less painful if we aren’t caught by surprise. Perhaps this logic would be reasonable if we knew exactly what life would throw our way. But in fact, we are often preparing for something that will never happen.

Following my most recent irrationally fearful moment, I am committed to simply appreciating the lives of my boys. Loving each moment, simply because I can. Not “earning” gratitude from meditating on how I might lose them.

Loving their laughter. Appreciating their affection. Savouring their curiosity.

And fostering wild boys that don’t fear life.

All because of the beauty of the present, not irrational fear of the future.