My Tennessee grandmother had a ceramic porch decoration that said “Never Hurry, Never Worry” on it. It hangs in my home now as a reminder, mainly because I’m probably one of the biggest worriers on the planet and need the encouragement. I worry about my kids, I worry about employment for myself, I worry about my county, and the world, and on and on… Does it help?
The short answer, as I see it, is NO.
So then why do I do it? Am I just wired this way? Am I fool who can’t control myself? What gives?
While I know everyone worries some of the time, I often feel like I internalize more and am more shocked by unexpected behaviors than, say, a less empathetic or compassionate person. Not that I’m Mother Teresa or anything.
This worrying, though? It doesn’t serve me or anyone I deal with on the regular. It makes me anxious and bitchy. It actually makes me less tolerant and understanding. It makes me less likely to sleep and negatively affects my digestive system. Frankly, my worry only hurts me.
So what’s a girl to do?
Welp. A girl needs to remember that she can only control herself. She needs to remember to do all those things she wrote about yesterday to decompress and stay grounded. She needs to call her therapist if things really start to spiral. She needs to remember that focusing on the good in her life and working toward the things she values where she can will help her feel a sense of control and contribution.
The worry doesn’t serve me; it serves the beast of self-doubt and anxiety.
The worry is going to happen. Best to acknowledge it, thank it for showing up to remind me to control the things I can, and then do all I can to send it on its merry way until next time.