Random Musings: Worry

I worry.

I worry about being late, about getting lost, about having to face my husband with a speeding fine if I accidentally drive over the limit, or a parking fine if I am delayed and stay longer than my prepaid time in a car park. I worry that I will be blamed.

I worry that my children will see me as dull or foolish and think that this is typical of a mother, a woman. I worry that my husband will see me as dull or foolish and decide to leave. I worry that I will express myself badly and cause offence or that my silence will suggest agreement with something I find offensive.

I worry about losing my muse, about the quality of my writing. I worry about not reading the books I have requested for review as fast as is required. I worry that my review will cause pain to the writer who may think I do not appreciate how awesome it is to have created an entire book and had it published. I want to remind them that each reader is unique and nothing is ever universally adored.

I worry that I will get sick and inconvenience my nearest and dearest, cost our beleaguered health service a foolish amount for treatment that merely delays the inevitable. When it is my time to leave this earth may I depart quickly and quietly, no fuss as I slip away. I worry that I will waste other’s time and money.

I worry about letting my family down, about not fulfilling my duties as wife and mother. I worry that I have lost whatever it was that drew my husband to marry me, that I have allowed it to be submerged under all of my worries.

Shortly after my second child was born I went to the supermarket with my toddler daughter and young baby. When we returned I parked my car in the driveway of our home and carried the sleeping infant to his crib before returning to unload the bags of groceries. My daughter had climbed out of the car and, in my mind’s eye, had accompanied me into the house. Now she was nowhere to be seen.

I searched the house, checked the car, walked around the garden calling for her. I looked up and down our road and in neighbour’s driveways. From a mild irritation that she had not followed me as expected I moved to a concern over where she could have gone. It did not take long for full blown panic to set in. Retrieving her brother from his crib I locked the house and set off on a frantic search.

I worried. I worried that she would wander in front of a car, that she would fall in a pond, that some stranger would see my beautiful little child and whisk her away from me forever. I worried about how on earth I would explain to my husband that I had lost his beloved daughter. I had one job, one important job, and I had failed.

This story has a happy ending. A stranger had noticed my little girl as she toddled alone down a neighbouring street. He saw me and stopped to ask if I was looking for this child, pointing me in the right direction; stranger need not always mean danger. As I rushed to find her a friend who had been watching for me came out of her house with my daughter. She had seen her alone, known this was not as it should be, and taken her in to safety until I could be located. She offered me a brandy, concerned at my shaking and ghostly face.

I worry about being responsible, about doing the wrong thing. I worry that I will make a decision to act and it will not be what was expected or required. I worry about being blamed.

And I am blamed: for preparing and cooking the same boring meals or presenting a change that is not enjoyed; for trying to discuss a topic when my detailed knowledge is lacking; for not being as smart as my former achievements suggest I should be. I am berated for not fitting enough approved activities into my day or for not being always available and willing to do as others wish. I am blamed for not meeting the expectations that they have of me.

Occasionally I will book outings for myself to events that do not interest those I love. I work hard to minimise the inconvenience this causes them but still worry at my selfishness.

I worry.

When did I get like this? When did the smart, independent, young woman I used to be turn into this worrier?

Perhaps I would worry more if I did not recall that that smart, independent, young woman had her own, very different demons to contend with. My worries are a burden, but only because I am no longer so alone.

 

worry

 

 

 

21 things…

A little bit of fun for the end of the week. This post was inspired by Erika at Tipsy Lit and Dawn at Tales from the Motherland.

May I present, 21 Things I Irrationally Hate.

angry_cloud_by_JaponicaChan

  1. Finding a stack of unwashed pans on my stove first thing in the morning, because I couldn’t be bothered to wash up the night before.
  2. Wearing gym clothes on most days, then pulling them on again because they are so comfy and I might just get to the gym later.
  3. Going without all the food that I really want to eat for 24 hours, and finding that I still can’t fit into my smart black trousers.
  4. Going to the fridge for a glass of crisply chilled, white wine and finding none, because I drank it yesterday then forgot to replace the bottle.
  5. Having to organise yet another family member’s birthday when they had one just a year ago.
  6. Starting a daily routine of visiting the gym, only to wake up after the first day aching so much that I cannot cope with moving, except to the fridge.
  7. Discovering that there is no chocolate in the house after I told my son that I was trying to consume less junk, so he ate it all for me.
  8. Not feeling rested when I wake up the morning after finishing that bottle of wine.
  9. Buttons. And collars. And having to wear anything tight or constricting.
  10. Not having enough hours in the day to pointlessly scroll through my numerous social media feeds.
  11. Matching the seemingly endless pairs of black socks from the clean laundry pile after black socks were discounted at the store and I bought everyone multipacks.
  12. Never having a thing to wear when I go out because I plan to lose weight rather than buy bigger clothes.
  13. Feeling too tired to read the book I am eager to get back to after spending my evening pointlessly scrolling through my numerous social media feeds.
  14. Always having to walk or cycle uphill to get home because we chose a house with a fabulous view and I dislike driving.
  15. Not seeing enough of my friends because I procrastinate instead of arranging to meet up.
  16. Ironing,
  17. Forgetting to complete that important task because I was too lazy to get up and add it to my list when asked.
  18. The shape of my legs, especially in gym clothes.
  19. Being the butt of the family joke, especially when I know I am in the wrong.
  20. Not having applied the wisdom gleaned from raising my three children while I was raising them.
  21. Feeling obliged to practice what I preach.

What would you put on your list of irrational hates?