Motherhood, Olive


Be Brave, by KelliMurrayArt on Etsy

Sometimes I have thoughts rattling around my head half-formed. They are mostly wispy, inconsequential things but their hearts are strong and they contain things that need to be said, things I want to say, but can’t find the words for.

I keep bumping into them and thinking I need to explore them, flesh them out a little more. Then sometimes I stumble upon someone else’s words that say so perfectly what I have been struggling to and these thoughts solidify enough that I can release them onto you, lucky people reading my ramblings! Here they are!

1. Inspired by Rebecca Woolf on fear and “Stranger Danger 

I don’t want to raise Olive to be afraid.

I don’t want her to be afraid of public spaces, heights, men, adults, nature, water, or walking alone. I don’t believe that scaring her will make her more safe, I think scaring her will make her scared,  and it is fear and the vulnerability it breeds that is most dangerous.

I am not naive to the world or the dangers it contains, but to navigate this world – which, yes, unfortunately does contain broken arms and pedophiles and drownings and sharp knives – to navigate this world, she will need confidence, and I think the best way to give her the confidence she needs to walk boldly, to feel like she can handle herself in any situation, is by preparing her for life, not by protecting her from it.

She is going to fall. She will bruise and her skin will break, she will get skinned knees and cry. Obviously, as a mother, it is my greatest wish in this world to spare her pain of any kind, but that’s simply not possible so, barring that painless utopian future I would rather she fell from a height of six inches than six feet. She won’t learn to be careful if I am constantly hovering around her catching her every time she slips, she will learn to be careful by falling and realizing the terrible, inarguable reality of gravity. She will learn from her bruised knees and as I scoop her up and wipe her tears I will point at the jungle gym and say, “Sweetpea you have to go slowly when you’re up so high. Make sure you are strong enough to hold on, and take time to look where you’re going.”

Hopefully these small lessons and small scrapes will teach her well enough that they don’t become lessons too big, and broken arms instead. I want her to test the limits of her physical ability when the stakes are small, and learn to draw the line between risk and adventure on her own. I think if I worry too much for Olive she won’t learn to worry on her own, and then who will stop her when I’m not around and she’s  stark naked on the roof thinking she can fly because she hasn’t yet learned what it means to fall?

It’s not that I want to be careless with her, or that I want her to get hurt – I mean it’s tempting to wish for her to never fall or hurt or cry. But can you imagine the type of insufferable human being that child would grow up into, never having felt sorrow, frustration, anger or pain? These things are the shadow side of life and no one wants to experience them, but I believe that they are inevitable and probably necessary experiences in order to become smart and empathetic, confident and able to cope with whatever life throws at you.

Stranger danger, too. This is somewhat of a controversial (and depressing) topic, but the fact is that our children aren’t being harmed by strangers. It’s not strangers we have to fear. 90% of sexual abuse happens at the hands of a family member or friend. Similarly, in Canada out of 46, 718 children reported missing in 2011, the majority were runaways and only 25 of them were abducted by someone defined as a “stranger to the family” (a definition which, it bears noting, includes anyone who is not a parent, including family friends, teachers, counsellors etc.)

Teaching our children to be afraid of strangers is harmful and counterproductive. I want Olive to know that she needs to trust her gut, not whether or not she knows someone, to tell her if something bad is happening. And if, god forbid knock on wood please god never, if something bad does happen I want her to place more weight on her gut feeling than the fact that the person she is with is known by me, trusted by me. I want her to  listen to that feeling that is telling her to get out of there and run like hell regardless of who is making her feel that way, and I want her to know that she has to find an adult and ask them for help even if they are a stranger.

Now, there is still the small matter of the 10% and the 25 kids. And this is why I will still prepare her for the possibility of abductions, or men with nefarious intentions; she will know about drowning or getting lost. I will teach her to walk on sidewalks and cross with the light, she will know not to go anywhere with someone she doesn’t know, she will know how to swim and how to get home. It’s not that I’m naive about the world, but I want Olive to have the skills to live safely in it, even when I’m not around.

This is the plan. But Olive is not even two yet. While some of this is easy to practice now (the not hovering, the watching and waiting instead of rescuing) other ideas have yet to bear the test of time to see if I can really follow through. Would I really let her walk to school by herself? Could I stand to see her climbing a tree higher than she’d ever been, cringing as she boldly places her feet and sticks her head amongst the leaves, and not say anything? Could I really not call out, “Hold on! Get down! You’re going to break your neck!”.

I mean that’s my instinct. I am, by nature, a hoverer and what-if-er and worst-case-scenario-er. I am no stranger to anxiety and fear, it takes over my head more often that I’d like to admit and I don’t want that for her. I worry. Always. So this sort of backing off doesn’t come easily, but I somehow through that instinct, beneath that primal roar I know that Olive is smart. She is capable, determined, and I want her to stay that way. I want her to be curious about the world, and I want her to know that it is, mostly, benevolent.


In my Introduction to Sociology class, the one that made me change my major, the professor discussed crime rates. He spoke about how crime rates are often bemoaned in the media, and worried over by the public. But, he explained, the interesting thing from a Sociological point of view isn’t why 10% of the population is stealing and murdering but why the other 90% isn’t. 

It’s because people – most of us- are good.  And when Olive was born, before she even had a name, I leaned in close to her ear and whispered “Welcome to the world, baby.” I brought her into the world and I welcomed her to it, and I want to keep doing that. I want her to know that the world is an incredible place and she is powerful, smart, and above all safe enough to live in it.

All of this preparing is of course leading up to the ultimate test, those times when I won’t be there. The times when she is walking home from school, or out with friends, or at camp. She’ll be ten or fourteen or twenty-one.  And when she finds herself in a situation that’s not safe (because we know that it’s not, not always) I hope she won’t need protecting. That ten-year old or twenty-one year old Olive will be able to listen to her own gut feelings, hold onto the railing a little tighter, know that flying is just make-believe, or listen to that churning sense of wrong when she is offered a drink by someone she doesn’t know.

I hope I can be brave enough to carry this through. I hope my fear won’t spill over onto her, and I hope that I can bite back enough of my worrying that she learns to do some of her own.

Be brave, sweetpea. Please don’t fall.

Previous Post Next Post

You Might Also Like


  • Reply Lara Routh January 8, 2014 at 11:55 PM

    Beautifully put. X

  • Reply Jennifer January 9, 2014 at 12:33 AM

    There you go again! You take the thoughts right out of my brain. This one was spot on. I love this post & couldn’t agree more. I’m a worrier, anxious, worst case scenario type. In my firstborn’s nearly 4 years of life, I have probably almost “be careful”-ed the kid to death. It is HARD to break that habit. I had fairly anxious parents and I went into this parenting gig thinking that a “good parent” keeps their child safe and free from injury (my brother and I somehow never broke a bone growing up). Through our play based co op preschool, I have learned to (at least try to) stop hovering and to let him climb, scale, hang, jump. He might break his arm or knock his teeth out, but I’m finally realizing that that’s ok. He is low to the ground and his bones are pliable and quick healing. His baby teeth will fall out eventually anyhow. Besides, his dad knocked his two front teeth out riding tummy first on a swing at this age. Who am I to stand in the way of a family tradition? 🙂

  • Reply lilymama January 9, 2014 at 6:56 AM

    I couldn’t agree more! This is going to be sooooo hard to put into practice…..and may nothing ‘really bad’ ever happen to our little ones. Confidence is key!

  • Reply Pain is living in the moment January 9, 2014 at 7:52 AM

    […] stress. And I reflect on how pain and other feelings I often shy away from can be helpful and good. This article calls those things “the shadow side of life” and I think that’s the right name […]

  • Reply Lora B. January 9, 2014 at 8:46 AM

    You couldn’t describe how I feel more perfectly. As a new Mom to a 2 month old girl I have been reading your blog and catching up on older posts. You basically take my tangled up thoughts that randomly appear at various times of the day (often 3am in the morning right after a feed and then I can’t get back to sleep) and put them into beautifully written words. Please keep writing! You have a gift!

  • Reply Kappa January 9, 2014 at 11:21 AM

    This is exactly how I feel about my 7-month-old boy! Growing up, I was a small-statured girl and people felt the need to help me do a lot of things, in the name of being helpful. What they didn’t realize is that they were robbing me of the experience to try – and fail – which thusly robbed me of growing stronger for it and I still find myself lacking confidence to this day. If I can empower my son (and any future children, if I am so blessed again), I think that’s one of the greatest gifts I can offer. And, of course, the knowledge that I’ll love him always.

  • Reply Kirstie MacGowan January 9, 2014 at 3:59 PM

    Great read! The statistics are always blown out of proportion and it freaks me out! Couldn’t agree more with what you’ve said here. 🙂

  • Reply Sam Pereira January 9, 2014 at 7:00 PM

    I TOTALLY agree! You took the words right out of my mouth.

  • Reply Deborah Calderon January 9, 2014 at 10:11 PM

    Nicely put. I think I was raised in a time of benign neglect. We as a bunch of neighbourhood kids got into a lot of trouble; things caught fire, kids lost their shoes, windows were dropped on little fingers BUT no one died, no one was kidnapped and no one was killed.

    Looking after a child is a parent’s job. Hovering over her life is an exercise in frustration for both parent and child. I think you are on the right track. Trust your instincts.

    • Reply sweetmadeleine January 12, 2014 at 12:34 AM

      LOVE the phrase “benign neglect”. Always have 🙂

  • Reply Kimmie January 10, 2014 at 10:39 AM

    Oh Madeleine!! You’ve done it again! Seriously, are you living in my head? You put my thoughts into such beautifully written words. Yes and yes I agree with every word. Keep it up girl!

    • Reply sweetmadeleine January 12, 2014 at 12:32 AM

      Thank you for the encouragement, Kimmie! 🙂

  • Reply Nineteen Months | Sweet Madeleine May 19, 2014 at 10:21 PM

    […] don’t want to raise her to be afraid (something I’ve written about before here) so I am trying really hard to stop myself from shouting “Careful! Careful” when she […]

  • Reply Black Helicopters - Sweet Madeleine June 23, 2015 at 11:35 PM

    […] would have been gut-wrenching and scary as fuck, I never would have forgiven myself. But I’ve written before how my belief that the long-term negative  effects of sheltering and protecting her far outweigh […]

  • Leave a Reply

    This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.