As my partner and I prepare for our first vacation in two decades, excitement should be buzzing through me. Yet, my mind refuses to cooperate. Instead of reveling in the anticipation, it is busy cataloging a parade of potential disasters, from minor mishaps to catastrophic scenarios. Welcome to my life as a chronic worrier.
With our flight just two days away, while many would be exclaiming, “Yay! Just 48 hours until takeoff!” my thoughts spiral into a frenzy of anxiety. I’m mentally reviewing my packing list while also fretting over every germ I might have encountered recently. Did I use hand sanitizer after my last gym visit? Did I remember to disinfect my shopping cart? The thought of both of us falling ill right before our trip is paralyzing. And what about our children? They’re exposed to so many germs at school. A simple cough is manageable, but a stomach virus? Our tickets are nonrefundable, so we can’t back out, but how could I leave my mom to handle sick kids?
Speaking of my mom, she’s agreed to look after our children for a whole week. Although she’s navigated life successfully for over seventy years and raised my siblings and me without too much hassle, my anxious mind is relentless. She’s transitioning from her active parenting years to a quieter phase filled with book clubs and cat care. Can she handle the chaos of four kids for a week? Will they listen to her, or will their constant bickering drive her nuts? Have I prepared enough meals to smooth out their routine?
Then, like clockwork, my thoughts take a dark turn. What if my mom struggles to manage, or worse, what if our plane crashes and my husband and I are gone, leaving her to raise our children? My heart races at the thought. What if my life is cut short, and I miss witnessing my children grow up simply because we wanted a little getaway? Will she be able to cope with the responsibility, or will they end up in someone else’s care? Are our affairs organized? Is there adequate life insurance to support their future dreams, like college and those pricey basketball shoes?
I envision our luggage tags floating in the ocean, the last remnants of my existence, while my children grow up traumatized, bouncing from home to home after losing their parents. The image of family members sifting through my belongings, discovering personal items I’d rather keep private, sends chills down my spine.
I know that much of this worry is unfounded. My mind is quick to remind me that past victims of plane crashes were also blindsided by fate. Yet, some part of me believes that if I anticipate potential disasters, I’ll be better equipped to handle them if they arise. It’s like having a worry insurance policy, or so I convince myself.
This flawed coping mechanism means I worry about everything—mundane issues like flat tires to more existential fears like nuclear war or harm befalling my family. I’m aware that this constant worrying won’t prevent bad things from happening; it likely just adds unnecessary stress to my life. I could be creating more problems, like ulcers or heart issues, yet the anxiety persists.
Living with such an overactive mind can feel exhausting. It forces me to navigate life under a constant cloud of perceived threats. I experience a perpetual state of fight-or-flight, and sleepless nights are common, as my mind tends to race when all is quiet. I’ve grown accustomed to this way of life, not realizing how much better it could be with some help. I plan to seek therapy once we return from our vacation, that is, if our flight remains uneventful.
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In summary, while the life of a chronic worrier may be filled with endless fears and scenarios, reaching out for help can lead to a much brighter future.