A Writing Assignment from my English1020 Class

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                                                            Worry

 

   I grew up in a tumultuous home.  My mother was a single mom, raising three kids on her own, trying to do the best she could.  I have vivid memories of her sitting at the dining room table, crying over her checkbook.  I didn’t understand what that meant then, all I knew was that she was hurting - so I’d run to her, put my head down in her lap, and ask if she was okay.   She’d always reassure me that she was okay - shielding me from any understanding over her financial struggles.

  I don’t think of myself as having grown up always being an anxious child.  I don’t remember ever having to worry about shelter, clothing, or where my next meal would come from - we were poor, but very fortunate in that sense. 

  We moved a few times from the time I was in Kindergarten till I was in 2^nd grade.  - From Arizona, to California, then finally settling in Florida.  I will venture out and guess that’s when the worry and anxiousness started.  My mom and stepdad had separated.  I started 2^nd grade at a new school, in a new state. 

  I recall struggling a lot in school that year.  - Never wanting to do homework, or classwork.  - Having to keep a daily reporting notebook that went home to my mom every day with either a smiley face or sad face depending on my behavior that day.  I don’t remember ever having that much trouble in school after that year though. 

  My mom had a ridiculously bad temper, and an extremely abusive, hurtful tongue.  Her words hit much harder than her fists did.  She and my brother fought so much.  He was 4 years older than me, very stubborn, and very strong willed.  He was just like my mom in so many ways - which is probably much of why they fought so often.

  Middle school was a turning point for me.  My stepdad and my mom had tried to work things out several times over those 3 years but finally separated for good after my 6^th grade year.  I had experienced a lot of personal trauma during middle school that I wasn’t dealing with - nor was I allowed to speak about.   

  By high school, my brother had landed himself in prison.  I was barely speaking to my mom, and she was blaming me for everything that was going wrong in our lives on a daily rotation.

  I was told every day that I was a failure, the biggest disappointment of her life - and if I failed anymore, she threatened that she would kill me.  After hearing that every day of my life over a couple of years' time - I eventually started to believe I was as big a mess up as she proclaimed me to be and thought that I might just be better off dead. 

  I’m pretty confident that’s when my worry and anxiety manifested itself into actual signs any healthy individual could pinpoint and seek help for.  With the close of my freshman year approaching, I attempted suicide.  I was institutionalized for several months.  - I received a lot of therapy and counseling but I remember spending the whole time worrying about how my mom was going to treat me after I was released and free to go home. 

  From then on, I think I managed to survive the rest of high school purely by flying under the radar. - Speaking only when asked specific things.  - Respectful, but short answers.  I never offered up any other conversation.  I quietly refused to share any personal thoughts or feelings with her.  I didn’t trust her to receive them without judgement.

 Still to this day, I believe my inability to communicate effectively when I’m emotional - or in a fight with someone - spurs directly from never being able to say what I was feeling to my mother when I was hurting.  As an adult in my early forties, I still have difficulty articulating what I want to say when the conversations are emotionally charged topics.  I get tongue-tied and completely frustrated to the point of crying because I can’t find the words that I want to say.

 

  Looking back on my time at home with my mother, I can see now how my anxieties were manifesting themselves.  I struggled with constipation all throughout middle and high school.  It wasn’t till I moved out that I realized people were supposed to poop at least every other day - if not every day.

  I struggled with patches of red raised bumps on my tummy.  My family physician called them “stress bumps”.  I had no idea things like that - a product of stress - could physically show up on your body. 

  My sleep schedule was erratic.  I barely slept for weeks at a time.  - Then all I’d want to do for several weeks was sleep. 

 

  Shortly after I had my daughter, I began a long journey of self-work.  I dove head-first into therapy.  I had always known I struggled with depression, but the thought of suffering with anxiety never registered on my radar until later in my adult life. 

  I remember worrying over driving, accidents, dying myself, or my kid dying in a car accident.  - Vivid pictures in my head of those things happening.  - Of my daughter being abducted.  - Held hostage in someone’s house.  - Being forced into doing things no child should be doing.  - Again, vivid, disturbing images in my head. 

  Worry - anxiety specifically - this was how it was all manifesting itself in my life as an adult.  I decided to speak to my doctor about it.  I was prescribed an anti-depressant with an anti-anxiety medication combined.  It’s helped but I still struggle with incessant worry.

  I now have 2 kids.  - And I’ll be the first to admit, that I have worried over the same things with my son that I worried over with my daughter.  - Accidents, death, abduction, sex trafficking.  - The whole gambit of twisted and gory details no parent wants to see of their kids.

  In addition to all those crazy things, I worry like crazy over the normal stuff too.  -  Bills, money, finances, Covid, how Covid is going to affect the world - my job - my career - my kids - our town - our legacy.  I worry every day about my son’s nutrition - his disability - my shortcomings as a mom to a son with special needs.  The only visual I can give someone of what my worrisome thoughts look like in my head is this:  Picture the biggest plate of spaghetti you can imagine - Extra saucy and piled high.  - That is my brain full of unhelpful worrisome thoughts - all day long. 

 

  It’s a struggle to say the very least.  A few things that help me are as follows:

  I meditate a lot.  I have several meditation apps on my phone that help me redirect my anxiousness when I need to, so I don’t spiral myself into a full-blown panic attack. 

  I pray a lot too.  I do bible studies geared toward anxiousness and worry every week.  One of my recent bible studies had this to say, “Worry is our inability or unwillingness to trust God.”  Ooof.  That felt like a sucker punch in my gut when I read that.  It affected me so deeply that I had to share it with my friends on Facebook AND write it down on a sticky note to have on my vanity mirror as a daily reminder.

  I grew up in church.  I was extremely active in my church youth group.  I’m still very close to my youth director.  I consider her my other mom.  I remember having conversations with her in high school about worry.  She basically said the same thing back then about worry being your lack of trust in God.

  A little sidebar discussion for any readers: 

  I know I’m not the only person who struggles with trusting God.  I was taught - or told - that I should think of God as a Dad.  - As my Heavenly Father - My Dad in Heaven - Daddy God, If you will. 

  - I was also told in the same breath that it’d be hard to trust “Daddy God” because I didn’t have the greatest examples of what a dad or father should be here on Earth.  - But I was never given the skills, knowledge, or instruction on how to close that gap either.

  If you don’t have the experience of trusting your Earthly father, then how do you trust in a God you’ve never seen?  This is something I still struggle with daily.  If you have any pointers on this, please find me on socials and let’s discuss.   

 

I believe in God. 

I believe in the power of meditation and prayer. 

I believe in medicine.

- All of which have helped me live with the incessant worry and debilitating anxiety I have lived with for most of my life. 

 There isn’t any one cure all.  Different things will work for some and not work for others. 

Healing and becoming a healthier version of yourself is a lifelong journey. 

What I’ve learned is that it’s okay to misstep, backtrack, start over, or even try something completely new. 

It’s okay to fall flat on your face - I’ve done this so many times - but if you just get up and keep moving forward - it's all considered progress.  If you learned something from it, then it counts as a win, and it all should be applauded.  One foot in front of the other, Friends. 

Written on 12/7/2020