​My daughter is afraid of a lot: the dark, water in her face, anybody new, failing (me too, girl), you name it.

She still, at 4, gets up almost every night complaining about anything and everything: she’s thirsty, she has to pee, she’s itchy, her foot hurts, her hand hurts, she saw a spider, she saw a snake, she saw a moose (seriously…). The list goes on. Truth is she just doesn’t want to be alone in the dark.

Just until this year, I had to pin her down just to wash her hair. I tried everything I could think of to make it less traumatic, using a peri bottle, a cup, the shower head, the faucet, a wash cloth, having her shower with me… She just was terrified. It turned into a real, live weekly horror show as she screamed at the top of her lungs, while I literally put my knee against her squirming, flailing body, holding her down, as I raised my weapon (a menacing mini peri bottle with princess stickers) to squirt water on her hair to wash out the shampoo. The girl would go an embarrassing amount of days between baths because I felt terrible putting her through it.

I felt the worst ever mom, like I was failing her. Why couldn’t I figure out a way to help her through it or find a different way that worked? When she is scared (or just lonely) and getting up at night for comfort from me, the feeling always creeps over me. Usually, the feeling begins with frustration from her not obeying (go to sleep!) and then it turns into this guilt for sending her back, completely rejected of the comfort she is seeking.

I know I need to send her back. She always falls asleep, and her sleep is longer and deeper because she’s not staying up with me. My sleep is better, which makes me a better mom in the morning (still tired-always tired-but better than I would be). Her sister gets better sleep. She’s learning to cope with fears, boredom, loneliness, etc. But, gosh, it sucks.

I honestly think part of the reason of it sucks is that I’ve been there. I think we all have. I remember when I was probably about 7, I used to have these hallucinations. The most reoccurring one was when I’d see these twins in my hallway who weren’t really there. It’d flip me out. I knew they weren’t real. I knew I was way too old to be scared. But I still was. I’d plot my way to get to my parents’ bedroom without having to cross the two kids, which would pace the hallway that led to my parents’ room. I’d time them (they kept very accurate pacing), and make short sprints to each room on the way. Finally, I’d get to my parents’ room, and my hand would hover over their doorknob, and a battle would go on in my head: Is it worth bothering them? I know it’s not real; I’m too old for this; there’s nothing they can even do for me. I’d hurry back to my room and close my eyes until I fell asleep. I remember telling my mom about it years later, when the twins stopped visiting me at night, and she told me she used to see things at night, too. I felt relieved, even then, that I wasn’t alone.

Building my bravery helped me work through my fears, and I want the same for her, but one of the things I’ve realized that I need to do better is to share with her that she isn’t alone in them. We all have them, and instead of immediately replying with the ritual “Just go to sleep,” I need to acknowledge the feeling. It won’t make the fear disappear, but it will at least make her feel heard and less alone, even if I’m not seeing her night-moose, too.

-Ashley

P.S. She hates water on her face still, but I no longer have to pin her down. It’s not my proudest mom-memory, but we’ve both moved past it. Here’s to hoping she doesn’t remember.