My partner and I are gearing up for our first vacation in two decades, and while the excitement should be palpable, my mind refuses to cooperate. Instead of reveling in the joy of the upcoming trip, I’m stuck in a loop of anxiety, conjuring up a host of improbable disasters. This is simply how I operate—I’m a chronic worrier, and this is my reality.
With our flight just two days away, most people would be exclaiming, “Yay! Vacation in TWO DAYS!” But for me, that countdown means 48 hours filled with potential calamities. As I mentally prepare my packing list, I can’t help but remember that I recently heard a report about a surge in flu cases. Did I use enough hand sanitizer after my last trip to the gym? Did I wipe down that shopping cart at the store? What if we both fall ill right before our departure? Or worse, what if our kids catch something? They’re constantly exposed to germs at school. I can handle a cold, but a stomach bug? Our tickets are nonrefundable, so there’s no backing out. The thought of leaving my mom with a houseful of sick kids is unbearable.
Speaking of my mom, she’ll be looking after our children for the whole week. I know she’s got decades of experience under her belt—she raised my siblings and me without major issues, after all—but my overactive mind doesn’t let that comfort me. She’s getting older and has transitioned from the busy years of parenting to a quieter life with her cats and book club. Can she really manage four energetic kids for an entire week? Will they listen to her, or will their constant squabbling drive her insane? Have I prepared enough meals for them?
Then my thoughts take a drastic turn. What if my mom struggles with the kids? What if our flight goes down and something happens to both of us, leaving her to raise our children? The sheer terror of picturing my life cut short and my kids left without parents is overwhelming. What if she can’t cope and they end up in the care of someone else? Are our financial matters in order? Do we have sufficient life insurance to cover college funds and the hefty costs of basketball shoes?
I envision my luggage tags floating in a vast ocean, the last traces of my existence, while my children grow up traumatized and lost after our untimely demise. And then there’s the thought of family members sifting through my belongings and stumbling upon my personal items, inducing a cold sweat.
I know rationally that most of my worries are unfounded. As I type, my mind chimes in with, “The last plane crash victims never thought it would happen either,” showcasing its relentless nature. Yet, some part of me believes that if I fret over a scenario, I’ll somehow be better prepared if it occurs. It’s like a twisted form of worry insurance—at least that’s what this flawed coping mechanism tells me. I prepare for everything, from mundane issues like a flat tire to the dreadfully improbable, like a nuclear disaster or something catastrophic happening to my loved ones.
I fully recognize that worrying won’t ease any situation, whether my fears come to pass or not, and I’m likely just piling on unnecessary stress. (Oh great, now I could end up with ulcers or even a heart attack!) Yet the anxiety lingers.
Living with this constant overthinking is draining. I navigate life under an ever-present cloud of vague threats. It feels like I’m always on high alert, and I often find myself awake at night, as my mind loves to stir when the world is silent. I’ve grown accustomed to this state, as one does with discomfort when it has been a lifelong companion. But I can’t help but wonder how much better my life might be if I sought help. It surely would be an improvement. I plan to look for a therapist once we return from vacation—assuming my flight remains safely aloft.
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In summary, being a chronic worrier means living under the weight of endless anxiety, even during moments that should be joyful. While I’m aware that my fears are often baseless, they still dictate my thoughts and actions, creating a cycle of stress that I hope to break.
Keyphrase: chronic worrier
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