Worrying through the what-ifs, loving through the letting go
Having a child and anxiety is not the easiest combination. Becoming a parent adds a whole new category of worries — mostly about the one thing you can’t control: the future.
I’ve always been a worrier — a ball of nerves since childhood. And now, I worry for two.
Lately, I’ve found myself worrying about my son as a teen, then as a young man, then as an old man… a whole life I can’t yet picture, but one I can already feel myself bracing for.
He went from baby to toddler in a blink. And just as quickly, he’ll become a boy, a pre-teen, a teen, and eventually, an adult. One moment I was rocking him to sleep, and the next, he was laughing and dancing in the kitchen. Time doesn’t slow down — it barrels forward — and some days I find myself grieving the future before it even gets here.
Already I wonder about his school days. Will he be quiet, like me? Will that quietness make him a target? I imagine him at a desk, still and small, while chaos hums around him. I wonder if the light and laughter that come so easily to him now will someday be dimmed by others.
I think about his teenage years — and worry. Will he lose himself trying to fit in? Will he find trouble before he finds direction? I fear the unknowns — the substances, the heartbreaks, the moments I can’t protect him from.
I wonder about the years that follow. Will he find his way? Will he be happy? I hope he knows who he is and what he wants. I hope he’s surrounded by people who see his worth, even on the days he forgets it himself.
But I know — none of this is mine to control.
All I can do is teach him to be good and do good. The rest will be his to decide.
I can offer him guidance, not answers. I can cheer for his victories, but I can’t win them for him. I can hold space for his losses, but I can’t shield him from pain. I can teach him what I know and still watch him make his own mistakes.
I have dreams for who he’ll become. But they’re my dreams. He’ll write his own.
And so I’ll keep worrying — probably always — but I’ll also keep trying to let go. To trust that love and guidance will be enough. That the wings I’m helping him grow will be strong enough when it’s time to fly.
All I can do is love him hard, hold on loosely, and freefall into whatever comes next.
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