I did the hospital anxiety test today and tipped into severe. Again. This is after a couple of months of therapy last year, which stopped at the worst time, just before the self-inflicted anxiety of a new kitchen, with no possible coping mechanisms huddled in the sitting room! And the trauma of being unable to bear weight on a bust ankle.
There’s the deep-seated anxiety about treatment: living long enough to take your daughters to secondary school; the oncologist finding something at your next scan. But this is different.
I’m not talking about anxiety for an upcoming party, hoping all goes smoothly. I’m talking about driving along praying you don’t crash. Dreading waking in the small hours because you know you’ll be awake until dawn. Worrying about ten potential scenarios before you’ve had lunch.
Panic when the phone goes; permanent butterflies in the stomach; a pounding pulse; constant worrying about what you should be doing; planning like crazy so you don’t miss the school pick-up. You never do!
Of course it’s not 100% of the time. Of course everyone feels anxious sometimes. Riding helps. Mindfulness doesn’t. My strategy is preparation. Don’t tell me it might never happen, because it already has!
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 