Conquering Fear One Step at a Time

My older son David (age 7) has always been very fearful. He somehow got an extra dose of the “cautious” gene. This can be a good thing. After all, I feel fairly confident that he will never decide that racing his car or jumping out of airplanes are good ideas. When his fear stands in his way of his accomplishing tasks that aren’t dangerous and that he actually wants to do, however, it is my job to encourage him and help him overcome his fear so that he can do these things.

Yesterday, he and his brother were playing on the monkey bars we have in our backyard. They haven’t mastered getting across yet, but they like to see how long they can hang and then fall into my arms. I told them that they are actually big enough now that they can drop to the ground themselves and not get hurt. David was terrified. He really wanted to try, but he was so scared. He was having a full-fledged argument with himself about whether to attempt this or not. His brother successfully accomplished the task, but even that wasn’t evidence enough for him that he would be OK. He asked for a cushion on the ground. So, I went inside and grabbed a soft chair cushion and put that on the ground for him. Then, he was willing to try. As it turned out, he actually missed the cushion and landed on the ground, and he was just fine. He was so excited to have accomplished this task! He and his brother took turns for quite a while hanging and falling and were having a great time of it. David talked the rest of the night about how he had fought his fear and won. He was so proud of himself.

Today was his turn to help me face my fears. Each summer at my parish we have a program in which parishioners are supposed to visit and bring flowers to one of our homebound parishioners. It is optional. You have to pick a name to take part. Doing this terrifies me. I am an extremely introverted person. I can write a letter to anybody, but actually talking to someone I don’t know takes every ounce of my courage. Last year, the boys wanted to take a name, but they didn’t quite understand the process. I wrote a note and bought the flowers and stopped by the person’s house, praying that they wouldn’t be home. They weren’t. I left the flowers and note and hoped that they got them. This year, my children “get it.” I told David I really didn’t want to take a name this year, but he was insistent. “Mom, it makes God happy to visit someone who is sick. You have to take a name.” Of course, he was right. After mass, we took a name. While I am already stressing about this, with God’s help, I am determined to conquer my own fears and carry out my appointed task. It’s time for me to take the same advice I’m always giving my child.