We Teach Our Kids It’s OK to be Scared & Brave. We Need That Lesson, Too.
By Natalie Serianni
While I’ve been scared shitless about everything as a parent since day one, I want to be a model to my kids to ‘do it anyway.’ To plunge ahead.
The morning of my daughter’s kindergarten graduation, I was a frazzled mess. I hadn’t slept well and was guzzling coffee as I shooed my kids out the door. My brain kept playing a sped-up reel of my child in a cap and gown, crossing a high school stage with a diploma. What the? In my gut, I was consumed with sadness and excitement, scared and nervous for what was coming next. Don’t all parents feel this? After school drop off, I sat on my floor, in my pjs, and took a few grounding breaths. I forced myself to contend with all these complex feelings at once. Why is it so hard for me to feel my feelings? At the ceremony a few hours later, I was more centered and able to do what parents do: be strong and scared at the same time.
Parents are brave every day, no question. We’re brave when our children grow from babies to toddlers, watching them hit their heads on every coffee table corner. We’re brave when we watch our little kids become big kids, learning to ride bikes, cross streets, walk to bus stops by themselves, or pack their bags to go to friends’ houses for sleepovers. We are a resilient bunch. We take a deep breath each moment we let our loves fly further away from us.
We’re also brave when we shouldn’t have to be. After the unspeakable tragedy in Uvalde, Texas nearly a month ago, we sat in horror, both numb and enraged. We were brave enough to send our kids back to school the next day, with a lump in our throat and the ache of anger in our hearts. Our kids returned to school wanting safe spaces for learning, while parents struggled (screaming, really) to understand those who hold the scales of truth and justice. We held on to hope.
We applaud our kids’ bravery every day, for their willingness to try new foods, a new sport, or to perform in the school play. We watch silently, often holding our breath, while they tackle a challenging math problem, or sound out a new word. We explode when they hit the right notes. We encourage them to take risks, and delight in their fearlessness while telling them it’s perfectly OK to be courageous and nervous while they try something new.
We encourage our kids to take risks, and we delight in their fearlessness while telling them it’s perfectly OK to be courageous and nervous while they try something new.
The past few years, I’ve been so focused on allowing my kids to feel into all of the dualities, and giving them space to do this, that I kind of forgot how much I need to do the same.
Being scared and brave in the same moment has been the curriculum of our pandemic crash course. For many of us, it’s been both a collective and a personal journey, defining our current scope of motherhood. There’s been incredible hardship and abundant beauty. We were isolated and together. And we’ve cared deeply even when it feels like no one cares about us. The last two years have challenged us with new, often unpleasant, constant change. We need more arms to hold all the juxtapositions.
While I’ve been scared shitless about everything as a parent since day one, I want to be a model to my kids to "do it anyway." To plunge ahead. I want to embrace the exhilarating and scary.
For many years, I operated from a place of fear. Unresolved and unprocessed grief will do that to you. To cope, I compartmentalized and ordered my feelings. Now I realize I can be excited and scared, brave and hesitant, in one breath. I enjoy what is thrilling, even if I’m terrified. I’m not just one descriptor, I’m all of them. This extends into multiple areas of my life: more visible work roles, and listening carefully to my oldest as she becomes a tween. I have to push myself out of my comfort zone, and into many zones. I’ve become a living venn diagram.
Letting my feelings lane-cross and zig zag is when I feel more equipped for the ‘profound experience of paradox,’ that is motherhood.
And sometimes it’s all too much. Too much crisis, too much uncertainty, and not enough support. The days of being everything to everyone have to be over. We deserve more.
When we erase the word, “but,” and replace it with, “and,” things become fuller. “And” has become a new motto for my motherhood. And sometimes the word “and” is too much. Constant care can be draining. We need connection and community to lift us, to help us find ease when two things are true in one unpredictable life.
My own nervous energy often propels me forward. I’m excited to learn and “touch” the new thing, because that’s where life is juiciest, isn’t it? But I do step back when I’m overwhelmed. I need to trust myself to keep going. When there’s permission to exist with it all, I feel like I know what I’m doing. Letting my feelings lane-cross and zig zag is when I feel more equipped for the “profound experience of paradox,” that is motherhood.
Life becomes recognizable and real when I acknowledge that there’s a lot going on. So much! Inside me, in the world, everywhere. I’m tired of pretending I don’t have feelings. We live in a messy, often messed up and still, somehow, beautiful world. I’m shook by it all. I’m learning to live in all realities.
We live in a messy, often messed up and still, somehow, beautiful world. I’m shook by it all. I’m learning to live in all realities.
As a mom, I like to adventure with my family. I'm always cautious and somewhat nervous, but gung-ho. Our family of four has energy to burn, so we keep active. We've been hiking, backpacking, and mountain biking with our girls since they were little. My own summer "mom goal" is to take my kids on a couple-night backpacking trip, without the, I’ll say it, expertise of their Dad. I want them to see their mom on the trail. I want them to see that their mom is real, she doesn’t know everything, that she has confidence and struggles. Also, she hates setting up camp and complains when she’s tired. And, I’m always willing to try. Even if I am scared while I’m with them, I am brave. In fact, I think my kids have made me braver than I've ever been. They hold me as I hold them.
What a beautiful way to begin summer—connecting with the things that give us hope.
Was I able to keep it together for my daughter’s kindergarten graduation? Absolutely not. Can anyone, when they play a slideshow of students’ baby pictures paired with a Taylor Swift soundtrack? I shared glances with many teary-eyed parents across cafeteria tables who were also present, feeling all of their feelings. There was a gentleness in that sea of brave parents. Soaking in the beauty of their children, sitting in sadness for what was, and feeling excitement for what’s to come. It is what we do. We hold on and let go.
It’s how we carry on.
Natalie Serianni is a Seattle-based writer, professor, and mother of two. Her parenting articles have appeared in Motherwell, MSN, SheKnows, Seattle’s ParentMap, and Today’s Parent. Her essay, “Subtle Shifts” was included in the recently published anthology, The Pandemic Midlife Crisis: GenX Women on the Brink. She writes about motherless motherhood, fractured living, and the difficulty of letting go of our mothers while seeing them in everything.
