I'm a third-generation worrier. My mother worries so much, I swear the woman has ulcers. And my grandma? Forget it. She makes my mom's worrying look like child's play.
They'd worry that you weren't dressed well enough for the weather, that you didn't have enough food on your plate, that you had too much food on your plate, that you weren't wearing enough sunscreen under your winter coat, that that little birthmark on your head was actually a ravenous brain tumor in its infantile stages. They'd worry that your runny nose was pneumonia, that a little in-flight turbulance was a sure sign of engine failure. They'd worry you'd get kidnapped at the mall, that you'd lose your hand if you stuck it out the window of a moving car, or if you made that face...it really would freeze that way. They worried...a lot. About everything.
It drove me nuts growing up. Absolutely insane. I couldn't get into a pool without waiting a half hour after I ate, with floaties on every limb, and thoroughly shellacked in an inch of sunscreen. I couldn't cross the street without wearing an orange safety vest, alerting the media, and looking both ways 55 times ("On second thought," said mom, "Why don't I just look for you that there aren't any cars coming?"). NUTS, I tell you. NUTS.
I always told myself I would never be that way. That I was ready and willing to resemble those women in a litany of ways...even the less-than-flattering ones (I was going to list a few funny ones...haha, but thought better of it ;) haha), but I refused to be a worrier.
I stood defiant. Did all sorts of things that made my mom break into a sweat. I rode horses when she was convinced I was going to get a concussion (never did that, but I did break my tailbone). I got my belly pierced in a foreign country (by a man that didn't speak English) when I wasn't up to date on my shots (in my defense, my best friend did it too). And I hopped inside of a 12-foot by 12-foot "Globe of Death", letting two motorbikes zoom around me in circles with cameras rolling.
Haha, Worry! I DEFY YOU.
Or....uh...not.
Because somewhere along the line, "nature" and "nurture" gave me a one-two punch and knocked me on my behind...firmly implanting that worry and concern I spent the better portion of my life despising.
Some of my worries are normal. I'm worried I won't say the right thing at the right time. Worried that I'm over (or under) dressed. Worried that my hair doesn't look OK (specifically my bangs -- because usually they don't). I'm worried about how to pay the bills, how much longer I'll have with my beloved Janie, if I "fit in", or the all important...will I ever find a man that's foolish enough to marry me? I mean seriously...
Other worries? Not so normal. I'm secretly worried that the doctor will botch my surgery, I'll wake up with a leg that's amputated below the knee, and I'll spend the rest of my life trying to get used to a prosthetic limb. And how do you look sexy in a short dress with a prosthesis? I wasn't worried about dying in the middle of surgery, until my pre-surgery questionnaire asked me if I had a will prepared, which led me to start thinking, how I definitely didn't have a will prepared, and who would take care of Janie? Would I have to start screening potential adoptive puppy parents now? I'm not sure I really have time for that...and what would that mean for Janie?
And right now? I'm worried that all seven of you that are reading this (like how I didn't say two this time?) aren't laughing at all, and are secretly thinking to yourself..."Oh my goodness, this girl's a total freak."
It doesn't get any easier with relationships. Especially new ones. I worry that I call too much, and then when I pull back, I'm worried I'm not calling enough. I'm worried to say how I feel, or not even that...I guess I'm more worried at how they'll react to what I have to say, or how it'll make them feel. I'm nervous to let my guard down, worried that I'm not good enough, worry that I smother too much, that I'm not skinny enough, not pretty enough, that my boobs aren't big enough...that I'm not a good enough kisser. And in the most recent instance, with my beloved Jonny, I'm worried about what's going to happen when he deploys, if he'll still care, if he'll still love me, if we can survive a year. I'm worried about what's going to happen, and praying with all my might that it'll work out the way that I want it to.
It's funny -- because I can identify the problem. I can see myself worrying about silly things (like what color my uniform will be when I lose my leg and join the Special Olympics), and tell myself it's silly to look that far out and worry about something that's not likely to happen. I can see when other people worry, and give amazing advice on how to relax, settle down, and just let it be. Yet I can't seem to adhere to my own advice.
That's where Lent comes in. I gave up worrying (and chocolate). I pretty much knew that I was going to break one of them at least once, so as a Catholic (who feels nothing but guilt for just about everything), I decided to give up two things as a safety net. The chocolate was for my waistline (and because I nearly killed a few people when I gave up pop last year), and the worrying was for Jonny.
Love isn't about finding the perfect person. It's about finding the imperfect person perfect. I'm trying to make things a little easier by getting rid of (at least one of) those imperfections. But let's be honest...do I really have that many to begin with? (ha! Kidding...TOTALLY kidding). He makes me want to be a better person, and I'm working hard to make myself into that better person. It may have taken me 26 years...but I found my inspiration...to shed the worry...one layer at a time...realize that I'm powerless in this universe...throw my hands up in the air...surrender...and just let whatever will be...be.
Because worrying about it won't change the outcome...it'll just annoy your kids, and turn a 3rd-generation worry wart into the mother of a 4th-generation worry wart.
But the cycle stops here, folks (at least until Easter).
I've turned a new leaf...and I'm thankful for that :)
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