The Internal Helicopter: Learning to Parent When Your Nervous System is on High Alert
I like to think I’m not a helicopter parent. I really do.
I want my kids to have space. To climb high. To take risks. To build confidence. To be brave and independent. But then reality happens.
When my three-year-old heads straight for the tallest part of the playground—the one with the netting that has openings absolutely large enough for a child to fall through (seriously, WHO designed that?)—my anxiety shows up immediately.
I’m standing there practicing my "Neutral Face." It’s the one where my eyes are screaming “YOU’RE GOING TO SNAP A BONE,” but my mouth is calmly saying, “Great job, honey! You are so strong!”
Then there’s my seven-year-old. Grooming a horse. Riding on her own. No lead rope. Calm. Confident. Completely unbothered. I’m standing there thinking two things at the same time: She is incredible… and I might pass out.
For me, anxiety isn’t always a dramatic spiral. It’s the constant background noise. The mental “what ifs.” The tight chest. The pit in my stomach that shows up the second I feel out of control. It’s knowing, logically, that they are safe, while emotionally feeling like catastrophe is one slip away. The anxiety doesn’t disappear just because the logic is there.
Why Parenting Feels Scarier Now
Parenting is harder to separate from fear than it used to be. When we were kids, we played outside until the streetlights came on. No trackers. No constant check-ins. No news alerts delivered straight to our nervous systems.
Now, we’re parenting inside a world where every tragedy is highlighted, shared, and replayed. Even if you’re not doom-scrolling, your brain absorbs the vibration of it. So yes, we talk about safety. We recently had the “stranger danger” conversation:
🍭 Would you go with a stranger who offered candy? “No.” ✅
🐶 What if they had a puppy? “No.” ✅
👩 What if someone said they were my friend? She paused and said, “Well… you only have like three friends, so they’d be lying.”
Rude. Accurate. Honestly, fair.
But here’s the part that doesn't get said enough: A lot of this fear comes from loving these tiny humans so deeply. When they hurt, I hurt. My anxiety isn’t a flaw; it’s my nervous system responding to the high-stakes reality of loving something this much.
The Part No One Prepares You For
What I didn’t expect about motherhood is how much anxiety would live in my body. Not the dramatic kind. Not panic attacks every day. Just the constant vigilance. The way my nervous system feels like it’s always on duty. The way my brain scans for danger even during ordinary moments: playgrounds, parking lots, riding lessons that are objectively safe.
And I want to say this clearly:
This isn’t because I’m doing motherhood wrong. It’s because my brain learned that loving deeply means watching closely. Most parents I know carry some version of this. We just call it “being careful” or “being responsible” or “just how I am now.” But really, it’s anxiety, shaped by love, responsibility, and a world that asks us to stay alert at all times.
I don’t have this figured out. I’m not immune to spiraling. I still feel my chest tighten. I still imagine worst-case scenarios. The difference now is that I’m learning to notice when anxiety is talking… and decide how much volume it gets.
The Therapist in Me Knows This. The Mom in Me Practices It.
My dad likes to call me a "social worker with an attitude." He’s not wrong.
As a therapist, I’m deeply in tune with feelings. But I’m also not here to pretend everything will be fine if we just breathe deeply and say affirmations. Life is messy. I believe we’re allowed to feel anxious and still choose how we show up.
I try to remind myself that anxiety can sit in the passenger seat, but it doesn't get to drive. I try not to let fear steal the joy of watching my kids be brave, even when my heart is racing. When the "Internal Helicopter" starts its rotors, I have to ground myself in what is true.
Reframing the "Mom-Gasp"
When my brain is loud and reassurance isn’t cutting it, I remind myself:
You aren’t broken, you’re a parent. About one in three parents report regular anxiety about their child’s safety. You aren't failing; you're navigating a high-pressure job in a loud world.
"Safe Risk" is an investment. Climbing, riding, and exploring aren't just play; they are how kids build resilience. Every time I don't "rescue" them from a challenge, I’m giving them the gift of self-trust.
They need us "Regulated Enough." When a child falls, they look to us. If we rush in panicked, they learn the world is a terrifying place. If we move slowly and check them over steadily, even if we’re screaming on the inside, we teach them that the moment is manageable.
Some days I do this well. Some days I white-knuckle it and go home exhausted.
The Truth I’m Learning to Live With
I can’t bubble wrap my kids. I can’t stand under the monkey bars forever. But I can prepare them. I can teach safety without teaching fear. I can let them climb, fall, and grow.
Messy? Always. Managed? Sometimes. Anxious? Often.
But I’m learning, day by day, to let go of the controls and just enjoy the ride.
⭐ Quick Guide: 3 Grounding Tools for Anxious Moms
5-4-3-2-1 Scan: Name 5 things you see, 4 you can touch, 3 you hear, 2 you smell, and 1 you can taste. It pulls you out of the "what if" and into the "what is."
Progressive Muscle Relaxation: Tighten and release your muscles one group at a time. It tells your body the "saber-toothed tiger" isn't actually in the room.
Anchor Mantra: “They are safe. They are growing. I am present.”
Anxiety doesn’t vanish, but it gets a lot quieter when you stop fighting it and start working with it.
This isn’t something I’ve mastered. It’s something I practice, over and over, in real time.