Parenting with Anxiety: Learning, Letting Go, and Teaching Safety

This post feels a little vulnerable to share, but I think it’s important. I’ve been talking with my therapist lately about how much the mental load of parenting plays into my fatigue — not just the physical exhaustion of chasing toddlers, but the constant hum of worry that seems to live in the background. The vigilance, the what-ifs, the imagining-every-possible-outcome-before-it-happens kind of tired.

I’ve heard the “just you wait” comments — when my boys started crawling, then walking, and now running and climbing everywhere. But honestly, I don’t think you can ever be truly prepared (much like anything else in parenting) for the number of falls, cuts, scratches, and bruises that come with having toddlers. And I have two of them.

There are moments of utter panic. We’ll be at the playground, and one of them is trying to navigate a structure in a way that is clearly not safe — and if I don’t intervene, they’ll get hurt. Or I’m up on the playground with one, while the other is on the ground, and I’m trying to keep the first safe (can we talk about some of those ledges on the big playgrounds?) while keeping my eyes on the second. I feel complete relief when they both finally decide to play on the ground with trucks — theirs or someone else’s.

And then there’s the mental side of it — the stories that occasionally show up on my feed. You know the ones. The ones I know I shouldn’t read. But then I do, and it’s all I can think about. I won’t share details here because I don’t want to pass that same feeling along to you, but it’s enough to send me spiraling. It makes every playground edge or unfamiliar face feel like a potential threat.

Trying to find that balance — letting my boys explore and learn the limits of their bodies while also keeping them safe — has been so hard. I’ve always been an anxious person, and now I’m an anxious parent trying not to let my anxiety spill over onto my boys.

It’s not easy.

I already notice little tendencies that might be early signs of anxiety in them. And as someone who’s lived with anxiety for as long as I can remember, I want to equip them early — with tools, strategies, and confidence. I know I can’t shield them from ever feeling anxious, but maybe I can make that experience less overwhelming when it does happen.

One thing I’ve been leaning into lately is reminding the boys that they are safe — especially in moments that feel scary or uncertain. Maybe it’s a loud noise that startles them, or encountering something completely new. I tell them, “You’re safe.”

And it’s already becoming part of how they self-soothe.

Just the other day, my little guy, E, had a minor fall at the park. He got a bit scratched up, and our nanny was with him. She told me that when she went to pick him up and hug him, he said, “You’re safe, you’re safe.”

It just about melted my heart.

He knew he had a safe place with her. And he made that connection — that even when something scary happens, he can find safety and calm.

That’s what I want for them. Not a life without fear or worry, but the tools and grounding to navigate it with trust, resilience, and love.

And maybe that’s what I’m still learning, too — how to remind myself that I am safe, even when my thoughts try to convince me otherwise.

Because anxiety doesn’t just live in your head; it shows up in your body — in your breathing, your tension, your exhaustion. It’s all connected. And as a pelvic health physical therapist, I’m constantly reminded that regulation and safety aren’t just mental concepts — they’re full-body experiences.

So this is where I’m at: working on feeling safe in my body so I can model that for my boys. Learning to rest, to breathe, to trust. And giving myself permission to be a work in progress — just like them.