My partner and I are gearing up for our first getaway in two decades, and while I should be thrilled, my mind refuses to quiet down. Instead, it’s spiraling through a catalog of absurd scenarios, from minor inconveniences to catastrophic events. This is my reality as someone who constantly worries.
With our flight just two days away, the excitement that “normal” people feel transforms into a countdown to potential disasters. While most would be eager for the adventure ahead, I’m calculating the 48 hours filled with opportunities for mishaps.
As I mentally check off my packing list, I can’t help but recall a news segment I saw about the flu season hitting hard. Did I use hand sanitizer after my last trip to the gym? Did I disinfect the grocery cart? What if we fall ill right before our departure, or worse, what if our kids catch something at school? I can deal with a cold, but a stomach bug? Our tickets are nonrefundable, so there’s no backing out, but how can I leave my mom to manage a house full of sick kids?
Speaking of my mom, she’ll be taking care of our kids while we’re away. I know she has decades of parenting experience and has never burned a house down—she raised my siblings and me with relative ease. But my anxious mind doesn’t care about those facts.
She’s older now and has transitioned from the child-rearing phase into her cat-lady-and-book-club era. Does she have the energy to keep four kids entertained for a whole week? Will they listen to her, or will their constant bickering drive her up the wall? Have I prepared enough meals for them?
Then my thoughts take a dramatic twist. I worry about my mom coping with the kids, but what if…what if our plane crashes and something happens to us? What if she ends up raising our children? Oh my goodness.
What if my life is cut short, and I miss the chance to see my kids grow up just because we wanted a silly vacation? Would she be able to handle it, or would they have to go to someone else? Are our affairs in order? Do we have sufficient life insurance to support their college dreams, orthodontic needs, and their fixation with those expensive basketball shoes?
I can picture my luggage tags lost at sea, the last remnant of my existence, while my kids become tragedy-stricken orphans bouncing from one relative to another. And then the thought of family members rummaging through my belongings only to discover my personal items sends me into a cold sweat.
I am fully aware that most of these fears are unfounded. (As I type this, my mind chimes in with, “The last plane crash victims never thought it would happen,” showcasing just how relentless my worries can be.) Yet, some twisted logic tells me that if I’ve already stressed about a situation, I’m somehow more prepared for it if it does occur. It’s like a bizarre worry insurance policy.
So I fret about everything—from the mundane, like a flat tire, to extreme scenarios like nuclear war or anything horrific happening to my family. I know that my worrying won’t ease any potential challenges, and I’m likely just piling on unnecessary stress (Oh great, I could end up with ulcers or a heart attack!). Yet, the anxiety lingers.
Living with such an overactive mind is exhausting, forcing me to navigate life under a constant shadow of vague threats. It’s a perpetual state of fight-or-flight. Not to mention, my thoughts often keep me up at night, as my brain loves to stir when all is quiet. I’ve adapted to this chaos over the years, but I can’t help but wonder how much better life would be if I sought help. I plan to look into therapy once we return from vacation—assuming our flight stays in the air, that is.
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Summary
This article provides an in-depth look into the life of a constant worrier, highlighting the anxiety that can overshadow exciting life events. From planning a long-awaited vacation to concerns about family wellbeing, the narrative captures the overwhelming nature of worry and the desire for support.
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