Neurosis

Anyone who really knows me well, knows how deeply I agonize whenever I read or see on TV something about a baby or child being hurt or dying some horrible death. In actuality, I don't just agonize, I obsess, for weeks on end. I know it is not healthy, but some twisted part of me believes that these children DESERVE for me to care so deeply that it eats me up.

And so, the only way I know to get past it, is to learn every detail about the circumstances, and try to truly understand the situation. If that doesn't make me feel better, and it usually doesn't, then only time helps. Time, and a lot of prayer.

Which leads me to this... and I know YOU know where this is going ... I become an overly protective and worry-prone Mother, well beyond practicality.

If you ask my almost 4 year old what he would do if a stranger approached him and asked him if he wanted to go see some "puppies" (or kittens, candy, fill in the blank with whatever...) - you would get a long answer back about how he would NOT go and instead that MOMMY will take him to see some puppies (or whatever "blank" is) if he asks... and you will WONDER what kind of coaching this poor child has had from his crazy, neurotic Mother.

Honestly, I know in my heart there is a balance between teaching your children to be cautious and allowing them to be carefree and live... but when I see these horrible (and in some, but not ALL sensationalized) stories, I can't help myself.

So, this morning, I am reading the Sunday paper, and I read a column, and it could not be more appropriate for my own life.

The author starts by addressing the young boy scout who was lost, but thankfully found alive after 4 days in the wilderness. He had hidden from searchers, because he was afraid they would steal him. She goes on to talk about how we are in such an information age, that we hear about awful things happening to people all the time. And how we tend to try to *not* do whatever it was we perceive they did to end up with such a fate.

She says the following:

"Yes, there is a scary undertow in our world. It hits our ankles with a sharp get-your-guard up tug. Ask any one of my friends if I struggle with cougar fear ("yes"), plane fear ("yes"), drown at a Water Park fear ("yes"). But stranger fear? With that one I try hard to make sure the answer is "not so much."

Statistically speaking, we are far, far, more likely to be hurt by someone we know than by a stranger. So, I hone my intuition, pay attention to my gut feelings, and generally try to assume most people are good. I fight, with pointed effort, my own tendencies to hunker-up by hoisting myself and my babies into a tree, certain that bears - or slimy wake-from-the dead-sea monsters - are lurking all about.

Tonight I will say this to my sons: If you are lost in the woods, stay put, and call out loudly should you hear any signs of people.

The world can seem a scary place, but most people in it are good. Most people in it will help you. If you are alone and afraid and I am not there, and Daddy is not there, and no one you know is around, you must ask a person for help.

God is with you and prayers are good. But God uses people to help him save his children. Most people will help save you. It's worth the risk. Look around, make your best choice, and call to someone.

And, to all of us older people, I add: Some days the woods are metaphor for the hardest and heaviest of adult problems, the ones that take us from each other, the ones that cut us most deeply and isolate us most powerfully. To everyone lost among such trees, please, fight the hide-out instinct. Scream for help. Call and call and call. Risk it. Someone will find you. Someone will help.

I am going to try hard to put this advice into practice.

We leave for our California vacation on Tuesday, so wish me luck!