So yesterday I had a mini-meltdown. It started out as a great day. I had a doctor’s appointment and for the first time, didn’t get my blood drawn with what felt like a knitting needle, and getting weighed wasn’t as traumatic as expected (I surprisingly didn’t weigh quite as much a small elephant). Plus, I got to hear my baby girl’s heartbeat, which is always thrilling.
I drove home with India Arie soundtracking me through sunny downtown Nashville streets with lush spring green all around me. Life was good.
Then, in the middle of a conversation with my husband, it all came crashing down. He said something seemingly innocuous about a friend of his’ pregnancy that really nothing to do with me, but I took as “holy s%&# - THAT can happen??” – and spent the rest of the day combing the internet as proof of my pending doom and cursing my dear sweet husband for inadvertently poisoning me with anxiety (poor guy didn’t even know what hit him).
It was really quite the turnaround, and even at the time, part of me was thinking “where in holy tarnation is this coming from?”
Eventually, I realized that this is something that I do. I simply don’t trust the good.
I reflected back on when we finished our kitchen makeover a couple months ago. I’d been pining for this dreamy new kitchen for years and the end result was even better than I could’ve imagined. Yet, I sensed this anxiousness bubbling inside of me and it was trapping my joy like a rat. I became pretty much obsessed with the fact that SOMETHING was going to break and it would all come crashing down.
I don’t know why I do this. Maybe I don’t think I deserve good things. Maybe I think that drinking in the good will jinx it. Maybe I’m preparing myself for doom because that seems easier than braving inevitable heartbreak. I don’t know, but I realized that I’ve got to face this problem: I am a chronic worrier. Even when I was a kid, my nickname was “Wendy the Worry Wart”. (Who doesn’t like being referred to as a wart?) and my mom famously likes to tell me that as a toddler, I almost never toddled - I was literally too careful to even fall down.
There are aspects of my life that are so filled with analysis and worry that, when I think back on those times, overwhelming anxiety is the first thing I remember. How sad is that??
I don’t want to make it sound like I’ve spent my life balled up in a corner shaking... on the contrary, I’ve taken some considerable risks in my life and I have definitely lived. But the monkey on my back has always tagged along - even this past week, I’ve had so many little worries crowding out my logical brain that I go to bed thinking “What did I even accomplish today?” Worry acts as a big pause button - it renders you immobile. Ineffective. Much like worry itself.
So, in true COFFEE fashion, my personal goal this week is to a.) face my worries and not let them burrow under my skin and wreak havoc on my days and, b.) tell them to fudge off. For reals. They're just not pulling their weight anymore.
As tribute to these pests, I leave you with beautiful Ray LaMontagne who clearly seems to understand.