Fear is a definite part of being a parent. However, I think that for me, my relationship with my kids has been the first one where fear is not a part of the relationship for me. It's a subtle but profound thing.
I'm one of those folk that aren't really that optimistic about other people. Whenever I get into an elevator, say, and there's a person in the elevator, I go through a sort of assessment process: "Was I polite on entering the elevator? Do they look kindly? If they freak out, what would I do? Should I comment on the weather or something?" It's the sort of thing that makes society go around, but for me there's always a consciousness of not trusting the other person.
And I just don't feel that fear with my own kids. At times, I'm anxious if I'm doing things as well as I want to, but I don't fear that they will harm me. Perhaps it is just that I don't fear; as I know they will hurt me. Heck, my kids have periodically freaked out totally and thrown things at me and tried to hit me, but it is so plain that this malice is not personal, but is impersonal, towards me as their parent, as the no-sayer or as the safe person for dealing with strong emotions; the sting of your 9 month old hitting your eyeball with his fist in the middle of the night is much more like the pain of hitting your thumb with a hammer than having some stranger bump you carelessly on the sidewalk.
Recently, I have been noticing how I have freed up by this lack of fear. In tending to the children or playing with them, I am free and spontaneous in a way that is really refreshing. Not worrying about whether I'm doing the right thing or whether I'll make a good impression, I can just sit down and play with various types of lego houses. I've spent hours and hours for years and years just joining with the kids in mutual attempts to have good days; we don't worry about what observers are thinking (I haven't got time to indulge my worries, and the kids don't have the same suspicion of people that I have), we just come up with stories, go to a park, eat meals, just thing after thing after thing. Sometimes I'm tired and I take a break from pushing the swing; sometimes they are tired and I carry them a bit. Without fear, I find that these problems are easy to solve; even a tense and angry three year old calms down eventually with a calm parent (I had typed "quickly" but these are three year olds - mine have had 45 minute tantrums when they even turned aside comfort, but "eventually" is still true in my experience - eventually the most deranged three year old will calm down).
This life-style has started to build a habit in me of responding naturally rather from calculation. I've noticed that when adults start to treat me meanly, that rather than fall into my pre-child tense calculation about whether I can stand to speak up or whether I should just ignore it, I am much more likely to immediately and lightly let the other person know that they missed something, just as I've done thousands of times to the clear but a bit rude efforts at communication from my kids. And when I get upset, I am much quicker to notice it, and, rather than waste my scarce time on feeling guilty for being someone who can be upset, I just wait for it to pass and then carry on. (When I do spend time worrying that I shouldn't get upset, I'm much more likely to lock myself up solid with tension than if I just realize that upset is a part of life; being a parent makes this fact of life very obvious even to me).
Some of this change also comes from having to speak up when it is for my kids. If it's just for me, I'll just eat a burned and tasteless bagel, but when my daughter really wants a spoon of the right size for her, I'll ask and ask again until we get one. And I spend many many hours providing words for my two kids to find the opportunity to communicate that our preschool assures us lies behind conflict. "OK, [Son], [daughter] said that she is sad because you threw her new toy and it might have broken." "Is there anything you can say to her?" "Do you still want to borrow it?" "Can you promise not to throw it again?" "OK, [Daughter], son says he'll be careful and he's asking for another chance, what do you say?" (I don't always have to say all the lines, but I often have to be able to grease the wheels when the two of them get stuck). So my habitual experience of meanness now isn't that it's mean, but that it's time for me to roll up my sleeves and seek a mutual solution that could be ennunciated.
So I've written a lot about beneficial it is to rear children; this experience of relating without fear is a specific way that has helped me tremendously.
