Nature, Nuture, Spiders and Steps

I’m frightened by a fair amount of things. Heights, deep water, falling, and even the dark, in certain situations. And then there are those fears that kind of make no sense when you think about them rationally; cockroaches, wild mice, slugs and worms. Urgh, worms. I am ridiculously cautious, to the point of my own exasperation. I am a Murphy’s Law abiding, worst-case-scenario dwelling, afraid of my own shadow scaredy-cat.

This being the case, I have said from the beginning that Paul can take care of the physical, slugs and snails, slightly dangerous kind of stuff. Because Paul is the cheese to my cracker, the apple to my cinnamon, the pen on my parchment. We complement each other perfectly and I would have thought that with our powers combined, we’d have this parenting thing sussed. Public speaking may make him faint from fear but that man will race a truck up a cliff then abseil back down again. I figured that Paul can show Alice what fearlessness looks like, what excitement and adrenaline and confidence in your body’s ability looks like, and I’d show her how to rock a crowd with her art.

And then, of course, Alice asserted herself as an actual person and all that went out the window.

I’ve always felt that fear was a ‘nurture’ thing. Beyond the innate reflexes that babies are born with, I’ve always believed being afraid of something, like heights or worms or the dark, was a learnt response through experience or lack thereof.

I didn’t want Alice to learn a fear of heights from me, or a fear of deep water, or any of the less rational and equally unhelpful fears I have. So I tried my hardest to not share these parts of myself with her, not while she’s basing so much of her opinion of the world on what I do. But ‘be careful’ inevitably slips out. Often, as it would with any toddler, right?
And Alice IS afraid of these things, and more. She’s afraid of heights and dogs and caterpillars and puppets and steps. She panics on uneven ground if an adult isn’t nearby to help. The happiest moment of my parenting life was when she jumped from the ottoman to the couch, but there has been no climbing a ladder past the second rung without someone close by.

Is my saying ‘be careful’ when she’s on the edge of a fall the reason Alice still slides down steps on her bottom? Is it why she doesn’t climb, pretty much ever? Is it why she doesn’t enjoy slides? That last one breaks my fearful little heart. I find myself thinking quite often, ‘have I literally damaged my daughter?’ Is she so cautious because I’ve taught her to be so?

About now is when some of you will be thinking that I should stop complaining and be grateful I don’t have ‘a climber’, ‘a runner’, ‘a jumper’ or ‘a child that wants to know what snails taste like’. But every early childhood teacher knows that this is how children learn. We have the ‘learn through movement’ sermon dictated to us from day one. Apparently, ALL children have the natural desire to push the limits physically, so why doesn’t mine?
Furthermore, if they don’t get the opportunity to express this desire, they will have stunted development and delayed learning. This is pretty much a direct quote from a number of text books. Talk about pressure! So you see? Alice’s behaviour is the exact anti-thesis of the learning, growing, developing child! And to think that I may have had a hand in creating that behaviour is frightfully saddening.

I find a little solace, funnily enough, in the fact that Alice is also afraid of spiders. I don’t know who would have taught her this but it wasn’t Paul and it certainly wasn’t me. I talk to spiders, complimenting them on their lovely long legs. Could she have taken my ‘be gentle’ warning the wrong way, maybe, thinking that she’s not allowed to touch spiders because they’ll hurt her, not the other way around? Who knows. But the fact that spiders make her nervous leads me to believe that her cautious behaviour is inbuilt. It’s personality, it’s essence, it’s part of what makes her brilliant.
And if this is the case, I can totally cope with that. As time goes on she can spend more time on the farm with Paul, experiencing the world through his tenacious, adventurous energy; it might just be that her naturally cautious approach will mean she will never forget her helmet.