The Fear I Learn to Let Go Of

The Fear I Learn to Let Go Of

Jul 31 , 2026. By Kidist Yidnekachew ( Kidist Yidnekachew is interested in art, human nature and behaviour. She has studied psychology, journalism and communications and can be reached at (kaymina21@gmail.com) )

Every time a sudden loud noise comes from our living room, my heart stops. I drop whatever I am doing and run, certain someone is crying or has broken a bone. But there are never any tears.

My husband is on the floor, my son is jumping on his back, and my daughter stands beside them, bouncing and shouting, "Me next! Throw me next!" They are all laughing so hard they can barely breathe. For the children, this is the best part of the day. For me, it feels like a mild heart attack every time.

Mothers are made to protect their children. When I watch my husband throw our children onto the sofa, swing them around or hold them upside down by the legs, my mind runs straight to disaster.

What if his hand slips? What if they hit their heads on the table?

The children do not mind at all. They are noisily happy.

Fathers love to play rough, especially with sons, and society expects boys to wrestle and crash into things. Even so, it is hard to watch my son get thrown about, and harder still when my husband does it with our daughter. We are taught to see girls as fragile things that break if handled carelessly. When he swings her fast or tosses her onto the bed, my whole body panics. I want to cry out that she is a girl. Then I look at her face. She is not frightened at all, and usually laughs louder than her brother. In those moments, she feels strong and big.

The play does not stay behind our own walls. Sometimes it happens at a park or a gathering. To strangers, the flying limbs and screams look like a child being hurt. They comment, walking past to say, "Hey, don't do that! You'll hurt them," or give my husband hard and judgmental looks. It wounds him deeply. He is their father, loves them more than anything, and knows exactly what the children can safely take. To be treated as though he is harming them hurts his pride. It is nearly impossible to explain to a stranger that they are enjoying every second.

Because the play gave me so much anxiety, I wanted to understand it. Having studied psychology at university, I went back to the research to settle my mind.

Experts call this rough-and-tumble play, and it is far from a silly game. It matters, first, for a child's emotional development. As they play, their hearts race and they feel a heady mix of excitement and fear. Because it is with their father they know they are safe. That teaches the brain to handle overwhelming feelings and calm down afterwards, a skill that lasts a lifetime. Such a play teaches limits and empathy. In our house the rule is strict, that the moment anyone cries or says "stop," the game ends at once. Because of it, the children learn to read body language, to tell play from real hurt, and to respect others' bodies.

Lastly, it is how fathers and children bond. Mothers often bond through soft touch, feeding and gentle songs, which release a chemical of love in the brain. For fathers, rough-and-tumble play releases the same chemical. The children trust him completely because he lets them take risks and always catches them before they fall.

Understanding the science helps, though the fear never quite leaves. What has changed is larger. The world is not a bed of roses, and life outside our home is hard. My instinct is to keep my children in a soft and safe bubble where nothing can touch them. But a child raised in a bubble is not ready for it. Rough play teaches them to be strong, to learn that a person will sometimes fall or be knocked off balance and still has the power to rise again. My husband is teaching them grit, not to fear everything, showing them their bodies are strong and can survive a little hardship.

So what do I do now when it starts?

I still feel that jolt when they crash into the sofa, and I doubt it will ever fade, because that is how a mother's heart works. But I no longer stop them. I let my husband father in his own way and let the children be wild. When the noise begins, I walk to the kitchen and take a deep breath. I know he loves them, I know they love the game, and I know it is preparing them for a world that is not always kind.

It is hard, but those big and fearless smiles make it worth it. I prefer to watch from a distance, or not at all.

PUBLISHED ON Jul 31,2026 [ VOL 27 , NO 1370]