Editor’s note: Amanda wrote this essay in 2017. I’ve chosen to preserve it because the fear she describes—and her question about whether a mother’s voice matters—still resonate today. The words that follow are hers.

I did something at the grocery store I’ve never done before:

Instead of combing the aisles for food to feed my family, I analyzed all of the nooks and cubbies, looking for a hiding spot for my kids. When I felt confident I had found one, I got down and looked my five-year-old in the face.

“Baby,” I said. “If we are ever in the grocery store and there is an emergency where you need to hide, I want you to look for a spot like this and crawl in. Stay very quiet until Mommy or a helper grown-up comes.”

It broke my heart to say these words to her and right away, I wondered if they were necessary. Of all the things I aim to protect my kids against, I fight hardest against fear and the way it creeps in and paralyzes your spirit. I don’t want them to be afraid. I want them to talk to strangers and explore new places and try new things. I want them to live.

But…I also want them to live. My most selfish desire is to keep those hearts beating; those hearts I’ve guarded since they were flickers on an ultrasound machine.

This is the conundrum, isn’t it? Raising brave little people in a world where you have to wonder if gathering in a crowd, any crowd, will draw the attention of an armed, broken person. So though it hurt my heart to do so, I taught my five-year-old to hide. I’m still not sure that this was the right thing to do but it was the safe thing, I suppose.

I know this isn’t enough. Despite what I was told and believed in my American Government classes, I feel very small and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. I hate that. I want to believe I can change things. I want to believe that my voice matters; my children need my voice to matter.