Hmph. When stated so simply, it seems so non-threatening.
I assure you, though – that statement has pretty much dictated my entire life. In fact, I’m not sure the words “I worry” even fully encompass what I mean.
I dwell. I wonder. I obsess. I lie awake. I toss and turn. I play out scenarios. I tense. I am consumed.
Those are closer. To say that I worry is as big of an understatement as saying that Donald Trump has spare change. I fall into the depths of the “what if” despair daily and although I am able to function quite normally, the knot in the pit of my stomach grows every day.
We took Quinn to an amusement park – a bona fide amusement park – not one of those “put-together-by-rubber-bands-in-the-mall-parking-lot-carnival” jobbies. A real amusement park, mandated by state laws and safety checks and thousands of satisfied , gleeful riders every day. He was completely un-terrified and wanted to ride every single ride, (including upside down ones) front car, every time. I was happy about this, considering I had spent the majority of my life too afraid to even get CLOSE to a roller coaster and never wanted him to know that kind of fear.
So, did I enjoy our day, as he exploded with joy and energy and fun, riding everything for which he was tall enough? Oh, no.
What if the ride breaks? What if that hinge comes loose? What if the safety belt snaps? What if his harness isn’t tight enough? What will I do? Are there doctors on site? Where is first aid? Would it even matter?
My mind raced faster than any one of those coasters, totally irrationally.
And it isn’t only Q. I worry about people I don’t even know. God help us if we drive by someone homeless with a “feed me” sign. I can pretty much guarantee you that at some point, as I am lying in bed that night, I will wonder (and worry!) about whether or not someone fed that poor soul.
My family. My job. Stories in the newspaper. Weather. You name it, I will worry about it.
I have always been this way, but it has definitely gotten worse in the past 2-3 years, and because I knew it wasn’t healthy, I tried to fix it – did some yoga, practiced meditation, tried an herbal remedy and ultimately, saw my doc.
She says that this is completely normal in women ages 29-37 (obscure ages?) and that hormonally, we ebb and flow in the worry department. She says in a few years, I will likely “return to normal” which I find questionable, as I was never really ‘normal’ to begin with.
We are working together to discover a remedy to my angst, and I am hopeful that we will find it.
Until then, I will be over here, worrying about it.