Worry FM

I have been thinking about worrying lately - which isn't hard, as I have Worry FM going constantly in the back of my mind. (Yes, I hear voices. No, they do not tell me to burn things). A couple of days ago, I talked about my constant need to worry, and many of you said that you experience exactly the same thing. I have been trying to work on this, and I have realised something.

Worrying is easy.

It is familiar. It feels like slipping into a pair of comfy old slippers that smell a bit off but that keep your feet warm. It is a soothing litany of everything that can go wrong. It is a security blanket. I'm talking about chronic worrying, here, not a five-minute session that can actually produce results. Nope, this is the constantly-running, deluxe kind.

Trusting is hard.

Trusting is SO hard, isn't it? I am useless at it. I was even useless at those team-building games where you had to fall backwards into a waiting colleague's arms with your eyes closed, trusting that they would catch you. I just couldn't do it. I would tense up and sway on the spot, unable to fall backwards. I am a control freak of note, deserving of my own special Control Tower and a campaign map with little figures that I can push around at will. This might be a side-effect of writing fiction ("Why won't you do what I want? MY CHARACTERS DO WHAT I WANT," - except that, most of the time, my characters don't do what I want either).

Worry allows you to smile sadly yet wisely when the expected Horrible Thing happens. "Ah yes, there it is. I knew it was coming." It allows you to live at a slightly flattened register, which is not as much fun as living open-heartedly, but is a lot safer.

I am pretty suspicious of happiness. My mum is, too. She has good reason. She got married to a wonderful man in her early twenties. They were very much in love. They created a home together; bought beloved pets; built a life; and became pregnant. And then, when Mum was a few months pregnant, her husband (my dad) was killed. Knowing that, it's pretty easy to see why it has taken Mum a further twenty-five years to be able to trust life and happiness again. I think that this contributed to my natural worry-wart tendencies, but I made some pretty good worrying progress on my own, too.

Sometimes worry is good, when it brings a problem to light. But most of the time, it is just a running commentary paralysing you as effectively as duct tape around the wrists. It's a habit. And it fools you into thinking that you are safe, because SURELY if you're on high alert for disaster all the time, you'll be safe. Ha. It is easy to believe that your worries are somehow more 'realistic' than your happiness because some grim, pessimistic part of you tells you so.

I am trying to make the daily - or even minute-by-minute - decision to trust rather than to worry. My technique of "LALALA I'm not listening" comes in handy here, too. Of course, Worry FM still plays, and there is still that pinched, stingy part of my brain that insists that my worries are 'realistic' and need attention, but I am trying to turn the volume down.

"It is safe to try this new and exciting thing."
"No it isn't. You are doomed."
"Yes it is."
"Weren't you listening? NO IT ISN'T."
"LALALA I can't hear you."

'Acting as if' is very helpful, too. If you pretend that you believe something ('I AM able to succeed at this') and act accordingly, eventually it will become true. And perhaps one day I will be able to tune into a different station altogether.

P.S. I went out to brunch with some lovely Austin bloggers on Sunday! It was bloody freezing. Thank goodness for coffee.


From left to right: Grechen, Joyce, me, and Cathy (first photo) and Sandhya (second photo). Photos stolen shamelessly from Sandhya's blog.