It is Sunday April 30th, 3:17 in the afternoon. According to my smart watch, I’ve only put in 3 minutes of exercise and burned 262 “moves” calories. How can this be? I made vegan omelets for breakfast, showered, went shopping for a plant stand at Goodwill, worked at my Dali jigsaw puzzle for an hour, weeded in the garden for an hour, and then washed the dandelion greens I picked from the front yards (I hear they are good for digestion). I am exhausted already and have once again driven myself to the point of overwhelming anxiety. Anxiety over the idea that it’s late afternoon on Sunday yet I don’t have work done needed for Monday, that I feel I should make dinner but have no desire to, that writing this post is both therapy and a chore – one more thing I struggle to fit in, that every decision we make is impactful and yet doesn’t matter a bit, that I saw a cobweb in the hall that needs to be cleaned, that the spaghetti squash I purchased went bad – adding yet one more items of waste to my list – time to grow, harvest, sell, and purchase it; time to cut it up only to dump it in the yard debris bin even though it’s not something we’re suppose to put in the yard debris bin, but cutting it up small enough to add to our worm bin was something I just couldn’t bring myself to do, that I still need to add the collected food scraps to the worm bin, that I spent an hour rinsing dandelion greens which commits me to figure out what to do with them, that we are out of bread and more needs to be made, that I’d rather make pita pockets and pita chips instead of bread but this would still leave bread to be made, that the best bread is made with aquafaba but that would add more unused chickpeas to the fridge – the last batch is aging in the fridge waiting for me to make into hummus and I’m not sure they are still good, that I should have made hummus last week, that I could simply open two more cans of chickpeas for the bread recipe, make hummus from those beans, and throw out the beans from the fridge, that doing that would add yet another thing to my list of wastes, that the sound of laughter from the other room seems to irritate me for no reason, that I can’t ignore the irritations caused from that laughter even with music playing in an attempt to mask it, that I still need to work in 40 minutes of exercise into the day to meet my goal, that my skin is dry and itchy even when I take the time to lather on lotion, and there’s moles and marks all over my skin that I think should be looked at but I don’t really want to know if there’s something there to be concerned about, that there’s lumpy bits in my gut that give me trouble that I think should be looked at but I don’t really want to know, that work causes me anxiety and stress but I’m not convinced retirement will resolve, that old age has rendered me unattractive, that this negative diatribe in my head make me inhospitable, that I spend entirely way to much time on the brink of giving up trying to be a decent human, that the world is overcrowded and the more densely packed we are with depleting resources, the more mean, selfish, hateful, and fearful we become, that I don’t know what to do with the culture shifts from the younger generations, that I’m stuck between pro-life and pro-choice – feeling despair over all options, and more despair over how polarized we are over this.
I could go on and on with the anxious thoughts in my head, but what isn’t here is anything immediately critical: nothing life threatening, no debilitating pain, no great loss to grieve, not even a lacking need or creature comfort. I don’t know how I get here, but here I get more and more frequently. I seem to arrive at this place regardless of circumstance and without much warning. Usually the experience is a drive through a small town – just passing through. Equally without rhyme or reason the mental storm passes, the clouds part and the sunshine returns. Control seems somewhat allusive most of the time, but not always. Yesterday, on a different trip to Goodwill – the trip where I found the plant stand almost perfectly matching what I wanted but didn’t buy due to the concern it was too big, and the next day wished I had taken it home with me – I was arguing with myself about the day’s activities. I left for a short errand trip only to while away several hours looking for nothing that I really needed – an activity to distract from what I’m having trouble coping with, negative thought swarm. I was angry with myself for feeling anxious without cause, and feeling more anxious over the ensuing anger. “What really matters in this life?” I asked myself, and then I tried to calmly root out the answer. While I have no control over much of what gives me angst, I do have control over my interaction with others I encounter. Spending my time with the constant worry of not doing or being enough does nothing buy tarnish my ability to connect with my people and be present when with them. As I write this, I realize this is also true for being present with myself. The dizzying whirligig of negativity in my head pulls me away from what is now and therefore what is important and real.
I’m not sure how to prevent going down the anxiety road, go past the town instead of through, or how to shorten the duration. For some reason, these episodes are an unwelcome guest I must endure during their stay. Resistance is futile so welcoming them in with curiosity and openness to the experience feels like a better option. When the unwelcome guest departs, I will embrace my people, embrace myself, and hope to hell the damage of the storm is repairable.
Okay, first a reality check. You are NOT anxious over nothing. Most everything you mention deserves some attention, but it is just.not possible to give everything the attention it deserves. We are doing well if we can give attention to a dozen things in a day. As the Wailing Jennys say in their song "One Voice," "leave the rest behind, it'll turn to dust."
Just try to avoid guilt when there is nothing you can do about things over which you have no control. (like most things).
Darlin', Superwoman is not real; she's a fantasy.
Your fitbit is flat out lying to you. Sorry, but there is no other way to say it. Toss it out! Do not let that monster ruin one more second of your life.
Go cry on your Mother's shoulder. Or your sister's.
Sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed or sad or angry, I play my favorite rock music really loud and I dance or clean something.
Maybe its time for a roadtrip.
Love you
Mom
This is so well written. It captures the spiral, the stepped up swirling of the worries, and how they build on each other and give birth to more. I felt your anxiety. You gave us images *and* feelings. In fact, it helped me to see my own. Yes, this is therapeutic, but it's also really good writing.