Tag: fears

• Motherhood

  One of my greatest obsessions (goals/dreams/concerns, it is many things) since adulthood is to be a mother. And with any other obsessions, it comes with its own set of neurotic fretting.

  There is my superstitious fear of jinxing it – I’m mortally afraid that by pure virtue of claiming a future status of mom would exclude me from the fortune. I’ve come across too many accounts of women who have had a hard time conceiving or carrying their child to term to be assured of a smooth pregnancy. At the same time, women give birth every day, every second, all around the world. So is it difficult or easy to have a child???

  There is the self-doubting fear of would I be a good one? If I had a choice in what my magnum opus would be, it would be my child(ren). It is also the lifework I most don’t want to screw up. But what if I do? Raising a child is difficult. Your child is a living, breathing human being – and also the most variable object to work with. Having a child is to concede and adapt to losing control over the thing you’re supposed to control.

  Another crippling, consuming fear is that my child may be [this is very politically incorrect] handicapped in any way. I have felt pangs of horror thinking about the possibility of Down’s Syndrome. Even spelling it out makes me antsy. Now this is very, very unfair of me to say and parents of handicapped children have my greatest respect. My fear is stemmed in a belief that no matter what I find out, I would bear the child – and potentially live with the guilt of watching my child suffer. Nuuuu.

  These are typically the worries of heavily hormonal pregnant women. Here I am, fetal-free and 22, already praying for a safe and healthy child. Omg, what a wreck I would be when pregnant.

  On a not completely unrelated note, I have been lambasted on ‘feminist’ grounds for placing motherhood above many of my goals. That instead I should think about what I want, not subjugated by societal ideals. That is so far one of the most ridiculous claims I’ve heard under the guise of ‘feminism’. Please. Being a feminist is about what I want to be, independent of patriarchal and societal pressures – EVEN if it coincides with societal ideals. Anyone who thinks I want to be a mother because the world wants me to must not know me very well. Anyone who thinks motherhood is an anti-feminist concept is just –

  not welcome on my blog.

  August 21, 2015

  fears, motherhood, parenting

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• Fear of water

  Right at the heart of the pool yesterday, a gripping numbness seized my lungs.

  Some background might be useful. Months ago, i attempted to swim with a budding cold. I kicked off a few times, but was struck with a giddying breathlessness each time. Admittedly, this is where i should have quit. But hey, i was already there – and a tough swim seemed more appealing than shaking on the windy benches waiting for J. So i gave it one good go, ignoring the pressure expanding against my chest, threatening to burst.

  In a disorientating moment i lost the easy movement of cutting across water and started grappling aimlessly, sputtering chlorine, my throat narrowing to reed-thin. What ensued was almost comical: a well-meaning but untrained tattoo-ed uncle coming to my rescue, succumbing to my frantic flails and ending up pushing my head underwater; stunned lifeguards sluggish from long periods of disuse; a very confused Justin finding his girlfriend dragged ashore like a dishonored, wilting seaweed.

  Since then i’ve gone to the pool once more. Much of the time was spent toe-ing the water warily. I finally found comfort in trailing by the length-wise edge, my toes scraping the wall in each stroke for luck; for safety. It worked: i could pretty much swim full laps across the deep with my pal, the pool edge.

  Alright, here’s where my foolhardy (more fool than hardy) made it’s determined entrance again. Eager to find my independence from safe walls, i ventured to Lane 2. I gave one solid push, tingling with awareness that sole against tile was the last concrete contact i’d have before i was alone, water all around me: man is now an island.

  I trained my eyes on the tiles below me, exhaled to the saturation of blue. For awhile, it worked. My mind ran through flip-cards of distracting thought: school tomorrow, food later, punctuated with ok keep calm, ok. By then, a seeping, hollowed-out darkness was taking over my body. Believe me when i say this is not hyperbolic: the phobia was thoroughly physical. My heart went so quickly it was a negligible buzz, my muscles resigned and went slack – and that horrid, horrid consuming emptiness.

  In an episode of Adventure Time, Finn developed a fear of the ocean after a drowning incident. His fear is personified as an inky, intimidating cloud sprouting from belly — the Fear Feaster. I never quite did appreciate the uncanny accuracy of this depiction until yesterday. Also reaffirming Adventure Time as an amazing show.

  

  Remember trashy talk shows (alright, Maury) when participants face their phobias of the most innocuous objects and they yell like they’re skinned sans anesthesia? I used to scoff and think, uh yeah i believe you’re scared but your reaction is so fake. Now i get that fear is different from phobia. Phobia is irrational, is tangible, is all-consuming. Mine – a specific, baby-level phobia – had already such power over my primal instincts.

  Back to the pool.

  I ran out of distracting flip-cards, and the Fear Feaster took root in my brain. It was like an full-on adrenaline rush, except one that ran contrary to survival. I just barely managed to snatch at remaining scraps of courage/rationality, dragged myself across lanes back to the edge (was in reality just two strokes haha).

  Having survived, i found my mild phobia a source of morbid fascination. Almost immediately after, i latched on to the nuances of fear, squirreled it away for later dissection. Maladaptive as it is, i’m almost pleased this happened. Not as a source of self-pity, but to quench a curiosity for the multiplicity of human experiences.

  That aside, i really hope i’d be able to swim freely of my bff, the wall again.

  March 25, 2015

  aquaphobia, cognitive psychology, fears, phobia, psychology, reflections, swimming, water, writing

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