Redefining What Defines You
I promise you, no lie, when I was little this was the prayer I said every night before bed:
Dear God,
Tonight while I sleep please take care of everyone in my life. Please protect my Mom, Dad, Sister, Cousins, Grandma, Grandpa, Meme, Opa, Aunt Norma, Uncle Paul, Emily, Beth, Kenyawna, Renee, Melissa, Rachel, Candace, Katie, all my friends that I'm not listing, my lizards (Mili, Vanilli, and Thin Lizzie), my dog (Eve), my snake (Ribbons) and my hermit crab (Frank). Please protect them from getting sick, getting hurt, dying, getting hit by a car, being robbed, being struck by lightning, having their house struck by a tornado or anything else bad. Please protect everyone. Thank you.
I was a worrier. I am a worrier. I have no clue if this is true or not, but my Mom swears, to this day, that my worrying began after a Girl Scout trip to a Wolf Sanctuary where I heard the wolves howling at night under a dark starry sky. Perhaps I need to go visit a wolf sanctuary again and try and reverse the curse. I'll add that to my to-do list. Visit Wolf Sanctuary. Pet wolves. Check.
My amazing Mom even got me worry dolls. I'd say my worries to them at night and put them in their little container and keep them under my pillow. Those little helpers are featured in the title image.
My worrying didn't and doesn't stop me from living. I've ridden on the backs of motorcycles, climbed some of the 14'ers, jumped off of 60 foot cliffs into the ocean, jumped out of perfectly good airplanes roughly 5 or 6 times, and traveled a lot of this incredible world. But, yet, my worrying defines me. Not all of me. But a pretty big part of me. Especially since having a child. It gives me pause. It makes certain decisions harder and sometimes it makes me sweat to tackle something for the sake of my child...that inside makes me really freaking nervous.
My brave child running full speed to climb up this beast... he made it in a jiffy almost all the way up to that opening on the left...which had a pretty sheer drop off of the other side. Luckily Mom and Dad can climb too. ;)
Because I'm so open and honest about my life, sometimes my worry puts me on the receiving end of a lot of 'but you're just such an easy target' jokes. If you're the recipient of any of these comments, you can probably relate to this. You can handle the jokes for so long... but at some point, they become too much to laugh off...because often the reality and the struggle behind the issue is a lot to bear. If you're the giver of some of these seemingly harmless jokes, I urge you to be gentle with your 'easy target' friends. There may be more there than you know.
Luckily, in the throws of life, I've also learned to spin my worrier title on its head a bit. To realize that it doesn't define me. To look at my worry and understand that perhaps what's behind it isn't so bad afterall. I've realized that what makes me a worrier quite possibly also makes me someone that I'd like to be friends with.
I may be a 'worrier' but I'm compassionate. I may be a 'worrier' but I'm attentive. I may be a 'worrier' but I'll always have your back. I may be a 'worrier' but I'm supportive. I may be a worrier, but I'm a giver. I may be a 'worrier' but I'm thoughtful.
This may sound like a stretch... but I also think my 'worrier' ways have connected me to the universe in a bit of an inexplicable way. I'll save the additional instances for another post... but I'll leave you with this story.
A few years ago I was at a meeting. On my way out, I quickly said hi to someone I didn't know. When I got to my car, something in my mind told me, 'if you don't go back and speak to that woman she's going to harm herself.' I know that's a really weird thought, but it was strong. I was running late to a dinner, but I went back in and had a conversation with this woman. Two days later I received a call that this woman was experiencing a severe mental health issue. For roughly 6 months I wound up driving her to and from all of her mental health appointments, and spent time going on walks with her and calling her daily to check in on her. Something in me knew I'd be connected to her. And thankfully I listened.
This is my story. I'm sure you have yours. What I've realized is that sure, my worrying isn't always ideal or easy to deal with... for myself and for those around me. But, the title 'worrier' isn't me in a nutshell. Perhaps I should change my description to 'I am a compassionate, hell of a friend, attentive, back-having, supportive, giving, thoughtful, worrier.'
Perhaps consider any 'negative' labels you've put on yourself and consider throwing them off their course a bit. We all have so many strengths. May you find yours. And pat yourself on the back for them. Be kind to yourself.
Blue Skies and Best,
Sarah
