Fear Has No Place in the Life of a Mother

We’re told that fear is just part of being a mother. That if you love your children, you have to worry. You have to anticipate every danger. You have to carry the burden of imagining everything that might go wrong.

I believed that, too. I thought vigilance was love. I thought anxiety meant I was doing my job.

But I’ve learned, deeply and sometimes painfully, that fear isn’t the same as love. It can masquerade as care. It can sound responsible. But fear doesn’t create safety. Fear doesn’t build connection. Fear doesn’t nurture trust.

Fear actually pulls us out of the present. It disconnects us from our children, our partners, our own bodies. It keeps us in survival mode, reacting instead of responding, controlling instead of connecting.

And it isn’t our fault. This culture is built on fear. Fear is marketed to us. It’s the glue that holds entire industries together. Healthcare. Parenting “experts.” The news cycle. Social media.

We are told over and over that we are not enough on our own. That our intuition is suspect. That we need someone else to tell us how to do this.

I see it every day in the work that I do. Mothers who feel like they’re failing because they’re exhausted. Mothers who can’t rest because their minds won’t stop scanning for threats. Mothers who can’t hear their own wisdom anymore over the roar of other people’s opinions.

Fear robs us of our inner authority. It makes us outsource our knowing. It steals our peace.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

What if we could mother without fear? What if safety wasn’t something to be controlled or purchased, but something we cultivated in ourselves? What if love, not fear, was the foundation of our home?

For me, this has been a long journey of coming home to my body. Learning to feel instead of avoid. Learning to trust my intuition. Learning to slow down. Learning to listen, to myself, to my children, to the Divine. Learning that presence is the real safety net.

Because when I am present, I can see my children clearly. I can hold space for their big feelings without making them about me. I can offer guidance without control. I can model trust instead of worry. I can show them what it is to be sovereign, embodied, and connected to the Divine. And that is what I want for them. Not children who obey out of fear. But children who trust themselves. Children who know that they are safe to be exactly who they are. Children who see in me a model of faith instead of anxiety.

Fear has no place in the life of a mother. Not because we’re perfect. Not because danger never exists. But because fear is a poor teacher. Love is better.

This is the work I do now, with myself and with others. Helping mothers remember that they are the authority in their own lives. That they don’t have to parent from the scripts they were handed. That they can choose another way.

A way of trust. A way of embodiment. A way of presence. A way of love.

If you’re ready to leave fear behind, you’re not alone. I’d be honored to walk beside you.