Thursday, March 24, 2016


Having a child and having anxiety are...really fucking hard sometimes. Having kids comes with a lot of terror, including a love that there are no words for, only the piercing, agonizing, totality of bright sun off clear water. You feel so full and aching with it, so grateful and terrified of it, it's overwhelming.

I think this love makes you a little mad.

For instance; I know, with a complete and utter certainty, there are things I would do for my daughter, to protect and keep her safe, that I was not capable of doing before. It's a little frightening to know these things, to know that you could be brutal and unflinching about it.

My daughter just turned one and I've been struggling with a set of fears I'd mostly pushed away with the day to day of caring for an infant.

Mostly it happens when my daughter is sleeping in my arms, little face turned towards me, lips pursed a little, eyelashes against her cheeks. They are long and soft and tipped with gold.

And I think, "I want to be here for her always. So that she never feels alone or afraid. Hurt or alone or sad."

These are impossible things to prevent. Which then makes me think, "If everything goes well I will get old and I will die before her."

This is when it gets bad.

"I won't be there for her when she is old. When she dies. When she is scared of what comes next, which might be nothing."

And my heart breaks, its pieces raw and terrified.

"I don't believe in god or anything after. So when I die I will never see her face again because there will be nothing."

I become brittle and I finally understand the enormity of what I've done by bringing a new person into the world. The responsibility. The fear. The love.

Always back to the love.

Then I go about my day again. I feed her and I make her laugh. I hold her and I love her as fiercely as I can. I love her so much I hope it can make up for when, inevitably, I won't be there anymore.

And I hate that so much I can barely breathe.

So I go back to loving her and being grateful for her face and laugh and cry.

Because it's all I can do.