The other night, my 3-year-old whispered to me as I tucked her in, “Mama, I’m afraid of the dark.” This is something I expected, I think most kids are afraid of the dark at some point in their lives, but it was still hard for me.
Want to know why? Because as a 26-year-old, I’m still afraid of the dark.
I struggle with anxiety at night. Yes, I’m a slightly anxious person in the daylight, but when 5pm hits and the sun starts going down, it’s like a switch is flipped and I start to worry, especially if my husband isn’t home. For some reason, in my mind, bad things only happen at night. I had a few scary experiences growing up that I think led me to believe that, but I’ve never grown out of that belief.
When bedtime rolls around, I have to make sure the doors are locked and the blinds are closed. If there’s any doubt in my mind, I won’t be able to sleep. Once we’re in bed, I spend a few minutes worrying about the “what ifs.” Our baby still sleeps in our room, but our 3-year-old has her own room and I have this weird sense of guilt about it. What if something happens to her and I don’t hear? Are her windows locked? Is there any way someone could get in?
There were times when my oldest was a baby when she wasn’t sleeping well and I’d have to get up in the middle of the night and spend a long time rocking her back to sleep. This is probably a peaceful experience for most mothers, but for me it made me more anxious than ever. I hated being in that dark room with the sound machine running. I wouldn’t be able to hear if someone was coming!
I think about the future, when my daughter will start school, when she has her first sleepover, when she rides the bus and I have to trust her in the care of someone else. These will be good experiences, but I know they will also bring new things for me to worry about and I hope, by then, I will have learned to cope better.
I told my daughter lots of things that night to comfort her.
“Nothing changes when the light turns off.”
“It’s just as safe now as it was before.”
“Don’t worry, everyone is safe.”
When I go to bed tonight, I will have to tell myself the same things.
To be completely honest, I’ve never written any of this down before and I don’t like admitting it. There is a sense of shame associated with the anxiety I feel. But I write in hopes that some other mother out there, experiencing the same thing, feels a little sense of comfort knowing she is not alone.
