When I was a kid, I used to love to listen to Patsy Cline albums. There was something about her voice that would draw me in, keep me waiting there for the next sad story she was about to tell. Crazy was my favorite. I'm sure I drove my own mama crazy singing that song over and over again in the shower. But I had to get the angst and sadness just right and that takes practice, I tell you. Real practice.
It's funny. I've had a lot of practice over the years letting worry soak right in. And she's not a bad person, this worry wort I carry around with me. She's just kind of heavy on the soul. Kind of bitter, kind of crazy. Every time I let her keep me awake, or let her voice get louder, or let her guide me in decision making just because I'm scared.....she becomes a little stronger, while a little piece of me flakes away. It's so gradual that sometimes I don't even notice it's gone.
My biggest worry, if the truth be known, is becoming a single parent. I'm scared Jeff is going to die is some freaky accident or by some weird illness and it will be totally up to me to carry on. The thought of raising two kids alone freaks me out in a big, bad way. I can barely handle it some days with two adults in the house. Imagining only me running the show squeezes by chest something fierce.
I know a psychologist would take this angst and point it right back to my childhood. Growing up with a single mother makes you fear being a single mom. Growing up without a father makes you worry about men leaving, by choice or by fate. It's natural. Still, I'm sure they give drugs if your fear wells up too big. No prescriptions for me....just yet.
What do you worry about most? More importantly, how do you personally put a lid on worry so it's manageable, livable, breathable? Do you even try? I'm listening. I really am.
Worry. Why do I let myself worry? Wondering, what in the world did I do? Ooh, ooh, ooh. Oh, crazy...