The Kidnapping Fear I Carried Into Motherhood

I was terrified of getting kidnapped when I was younger. And honestly, this fear followed me for much longer than I’d like to admit…

I don’t know exactly what caused it. But on top of already being the most anxious child, it caused so much stress for me.

It wasn’t just a fear I had. It was a fear I managed. I had rules. Don’t walk near vans. Don’t make eye contact with strangers in parking lots. Always know where the exits are. I was building a whole security system in my head.

Sleeping was the worst part.

I remember my mom and stepdad making my room all cute and cozy. But my mind would play tricks on me. I’d lay there with my head on my pillow and hear footsteps, convinced someone was walking up to my bedroom window, when in reality I was just hearing my own heartbeat.

My dreams were the same, over and over again.

Getting kidnapped.

Around the same time, Elizabeth Smart was all over the news, which only made everything worse.

I remember hearing about a girl being taken right out of her own bedroom. If it could happen to her, in her own house, with her own family down the hall, nowhere was safe. Not even the cute, cozy room my mom had made for me.

All my friends walked to school together. We lived close enough that it should’ve been easy. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I’d cry and cry pleading that my mom would take me.

At my dad’s apartment, the laundry room was just two doors down. He’d grab the basket and say, “I’ll be right back.” I wouldn’t let him leave. I’d stop playing with my barbies and immedietely follow him down the hall. There was no chance I would be alone, even for 5 minutes..I’d check the front door to make sure it was always locked. Then check it again. Just to be sure.

Every other weekend I would go to my dad’s house. It was just him and me. He couldn’t afford much at the time, so we lived in tiny apartments in some pretty sketchy areas.

To me, my dad was this big, intimidating guy. He would always tell me, “If anyone takes you, I will find you.” (Haha... kind of like that movie.) But hearing him say that made me feel a little safer.

He wasn’t a soft dad. He didn’t do bedtime stories or nightlights. When I told him my fear he answered only way he knew how by promising he’d find me, if it ever happened. I didn’t need logic. I needed a plan. He gave me one.

I had my own bedroom at my dad’s house. But every single night, I crawled into bed with him. That’s where I felt safe. I always had to have my hand touching his shoulder, just to make sure he was there.

I slept in my dad’s bed until I was seven years old. He will joke about it now..But for me, it was everything.

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Looking back now, I think that’s one of the reasons I never questioned co-sleeping with my own kids.

I never wanted them to have the same fear I did.

When my daughter was a baby, people warned me I was creating a bad habit. That she’d never sleep in her own room. Maybe they’re right. But this isn't about what's right for every kid.. it's about what she needed, and honestly what I need. Every time she wakes up I want to be right there. Every time she has a nightmare I will be there.