I’m absolutely privileged to have the front row seats in the journey of my son’s learning. But what about where I sit in my own?
To see him grow more curious by the minute, inspect and explore and develop preferences to his life experiences enlightens me to the fact though; I can’t imagine myself ever feeling more curious than scared. Of course, I’m not afraid of the jumping-up lid of kitchen rubbish bin and I don’t cry every time I put my seatbelt on but in comparison, my son’s learning teaches me SO MUCH about what I am really shit scared of and let it be said, I AM WUSS.
I know from being the passenger in his development that he would never have eaten a whole apple had I not first blended it, then roughly mashed it, and now quartered it. I know he would never have sat on his own, stood by himself taken his first steps had I stayed too scared to let him roam outside the bars of his cot. And he would never have learned how to sleep by himself if I’d stayed glued to the outside like some deranged mother on visitation rights.
Yesterday I watched him lick his fingers clean because the mango he just pulverized was making a hash of his ability to hang onto things. This morning I watched him stand on his own, then gently bend to a perfectly poised squat. So what? So WONDERFUL.
His eagerness to learn isn’t even a decision. He’s just going with the flow, riding each wave as it crests or crashes, limited only by the horror of a daytime snooze or the sadistic barriers- front and back door.
I consider myself and the prospect of going back to uni in just a few short weeks. I know it’s my opportunity and it can’t be missed. In the same way my son didn’t miss his first opportunity to stand alone, for his sake I can’t either. I’m scared for a whole host of reasons that can only be put under the umbrella of fear I’ve learned to take shelter from when it probably wasn’t necessary.
Before anxiety grabbed me by the back of the neck a few short years ago, I was confident in my ability to communicate and to learn in order to perpetuate those contributions. When anxiety hit with the barrage of ammunition in self doubt, egoic delusion and an inability to speak freely without being riddled by heckling from my inner critic, I was absolutely felled by the dramatic drop in my level of enjoiyment of LIFE. It happened so quickly I can only let myself dwell on what life was like before the angle of the journey slowly adjusted to an uphill slant. I remember times when I felt uninhibited, excited to meet new people, confident that I had something to offer. Of course I don’t feel anxious all the time, but as a contrast, it looks to me as though I had an entirely different outlook on life and presented as a far more positive person because of that.
I hope like hell that my son doesn’t have to deal with this shitty fabric in his life tapestry. All the hours spent huddled in the boot while my own life journey took place make me damn sure I’ll be there for him if he needs it. If it does turn out that anxiety is the material afforded to him, then I will have exhausted every option I have in helping him overcome such an inwardly destructive challenge.
So on that note, I guess I’ll be needing a babysitter.