Transformations (and anxiety)

For the longest time I have thought about personal transformations like something out of an anime. You know, the magical girl twirling lights and wardrobe change, all very Sailor Moon-like. I know that makes aaaabsolutely no sense. But, I thought, someday that might happen to me, you know, I'll turn into and adult or an spiritual person or I'll find enlightening or whatever it is one is supposed to turn into and be a competent, self assured thirty something.

I'm struggling.

I guess everyone does. Probably everyone feels like a fake too. Which is really scary to think about, if everyone else is also just faking it.. Everything seems just so much more fallible. At least if it was only me faking it, the world would have some direction. But the world certainly looks like a dumpster fire right now, so...

I'm struggling with anxiety a lot. Again. Not in the same way as with Peanut, those first 9-10 months. I haven't had anxiety attacks. But these days I lay awake, worrying about war, about refugees, about nuclear bombs. Will my children have a chance to live in a better world than I? Will they grow up with fear, with war, displaced? I would do everything  for them. Anything. I am terrified of the world. I don't feel like I can make a difference.

I think the only thing I have some power over (and even then, not as much as I wish/think) is their education. Trying to make them turn out right. Caring, self assured people. Empathic. Resilient. Brave.

But I am so afraid for them. I love them beyond what I thought was possible. Every cliche, every over used expression. They are my world, my motivation, my pride. My babies.

I never noticed any magical girl twirling transformation. Yet here I am, transformed. A mom. My heart out there, in the light of their eyes. Aching even when they laugh, because I know they will grow, that even in the best possible outcome, they don't belong to me. They belong to themselves, and they will never know that I can't never, ever, be who I was before them again. Never can my heart be whole inside my chest again. Motherhood is excruciating. It pulls me in every direction at once, full of joy and pride and fear and longing, sleepless and insecure.

But I am not who I was. Love is transformative. I am humbled and anxious, aware of the fears of my mother and of all the mothers before her. I am not as bold as I was. Not as certain. Was I ever certain? Less, then.

But I have also found connection. Sisterhood. Gentle looks and hundreds of benedictions. I think the phrase I hear most from strangers is "God keep your children". They mean it. I feel like the world is so much scarier, but people are so kind, too. I'm touched by how people don't think twice to offer me help. I was proud to be unapproachable and aloof, to have people fear me or feel uncomfortable in my company. It made me feel like I was better than them.

My insecurities made me a fool. I know they still do. I am terrified of how they will affect my kids. What my neuroses will do to them, how will they shape them. I must be better, confront these weaknesses, expose them to the light and see them for what they are. Childish justifications of character flaws. Nothing special, and in that they keep me from fully engaging with people, a great liability. I can't do this alone.

So... I don't know how to face these fears. They are so big, I can't really convince myself they are unwarranted. But I know post partum anxiety is real. I have been here before. Depression lurks around the corners. If I'm not tired enough to just pass out at night, they keep me up for hours. I hope writing about them helps me handle them, or at least normalizes them enough so I can talk about them freely so they don't become dark shadows around me and my kids.