Mother’s Week 2021: Day 6

By Talene Lee Burrell

Sweats and chills and relentless, throbbing pain. Twisting in sheets that comforted me one moment only to shackle me the next. At one point I had so many blankets piled up high that I looked like a fish flopping under an igloo. This is the state I was in when I was supposed to be writing a Mother's Day reflection. This torment was a blessing, a gift many of you have received stabbed into your arm as well. The second dose of a vaccine. A simple thing. But it clobbered me.

And in that window, when I was beaten up by life-saving science, I could not mother my kids. And that was awful. I couldn't prepare food, homeschool, change diapers, play with my baby, break up fights, or calm the worry in their eyes as they looked at me laying there. I couldn't be the Mama they needed in that moment. And that made me so sad.

These past two days have been a perfect microcosmic example of what living in helplessness looks like. It is paralyzing. I pour myself into my five kids every day because they need me for the everyday things like opening bottles, tucking them in. But they also have this unspoken, unarticulated need for my presence. Just to sit beside them while they play the floor is lava for the umpteenth time or work on their math exercise book, or just dig in the dirt. My presence calms them.

But their presence has the opposite effect on me. It hurts me to confess that but it's true.

Two months after having my first child, Javi, I suddenly popped up in bed, terrified that someone was about to break into the house and throw Javi into the oven. This crazy and intense feeling of helplessness gripped me Every Night for months. I can't explain it except to say it must have related to something chemical that was going on in my body's hormonal adjustments postpartum. One of my friends divulged to me that, soon after having her baby, she too would have this waking nightmare that she'd accidentally lose grip of her baby stroller and have it hurtle over a cliff. I wasn't alone in my chemically-directed dread, but that didn't make it any better. It just assured me I wasn't crazy. The irrational anxiety about break-ins petered off but came crashing in again full force after the birth of my second son, Gabel. I had never been an anxious person before but I had observed it as a child with my mom. As I was growing up I watched my mom install every possible safety measure in our home with double locks on even sliding glass doors. She never let me play in the front yard unsupervised or walk the one block to my grandma's house alone. So I came to age in a world that was a very scary place to her, and, by transference, to me. I tried to rebel against this anxiety-ridden way of life that seemed so stifling--but as I lay awake at night, clutching my new baby, completely paralyzed by fear, I wondered if I was fighting a losing battle.

Talene Lee Burrell with her children and dog.

With each successive child, I began to lose the irrational middle of the night jitters. But new ones, wrapped up in more attractive, rational packaging took their place. The midnight panic has now evolved into a fine-tuned, hyper-protective drive that glows bright red when we have yet another rattlesnake or coyote sighting on our property or encounter a flurry of police next door because a mentally unstable man keeps harassing the neighbors or I hear about children suffering from Covid. My arms are full of netting and rocks to reinforce the small openings in the side fence. I am clicking "buy it now" to grab up some lights to discourage any wandering trouble seeker. And we haven't signed the kids up for any in-person events because who knows where this virus lurks. It's exhausting to maintain this constant vigilance. Imagine my dismay this week when, midway through my fence "fortress" installation, a racer snake comes out of nowhere, glides its way past the feet of my three year old daughter and right through my fence! What if that were a rattler? I find myself paralyzed with helplessness yet again because what can I do?

Psalm 34

4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.
6 This poor man called, and the Lord heard him;
he saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him,
and he delivers them.
8 Taste and see that the Lord is good;
blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.
9 Fear the Lord, you his holy people,
for those who fear him lack nothing.

I cannot help but notice that the author did not say that the Lord delivered him from what he feared but from his fears.

Lord, I humbly come and ask this: deliver me from my fears. Deliver me, as only You can, from these paralyzing fears of real and imagined things. I want my children to see a face that is radiant with trust in You. More than providing them with food and a fortress, I want them to taste and see Your goodness. And to know with certainty, because of how they see their mama live, that You can be trusted as our refuge. My fears are a waste. My fear is resistance to the truth. The truth is that I do not have control. But fear of You Lord--the awareness that I am in the presence of a holy, loving, just and faithful Almighty God--is everything. It is the calming presence. In You, my children and I lack nothing. Thank You, Lord. Amen.

I fear I cannot do and be all for my kids. And that fear is justified. I can't even secure a fence from a snake. But I can pray the above prayer in my waking up and my lying down. I need to. Because it's not a new lesson. It is one I have been learning and relearning in my ten years of motherhood. By God's grace, I will be completely healed of my paralysis. Free to be a mama whose presence is ever calming, ever steadying, ever trusting in a heavenly Father who casts out every fear.