Worrier Mom

I admit it. I'm a worrier. Always have been. Always will be. It's part of who I am. I was a Worrier Child. One night, when I was about eight years old, I went back downstairs after being put to bed. I told my mother I couldn't go to sleep because I was afraid to die. Perplexed, she asked me to explain. I told her that even if I lived to be eighty it was going to seem very short because the first eight years had gone by so fast. Baffled, she tried to reassure me and then sent me back to bed.

As with all personality traits, we have to wonder. Were we born worriers or did our lives create the tendency? We'll never know how much losing my brother when I was two and a half changed my sense of security. His accident was proof that very bad things do happen and the world is not necessarily safe. How do you undo that? I don't think you can. You adapt. Now it's been discovered that negative thinkers are just as good at coping as positive thinkers.

My pessimistic style was studied by Julie Norem who wrote a book called The Positive Power of Negative Thinking. According to Norem, I'm a defensive pessimist and my coping strategies help me prepare for situations because I envision all sorts of outcomes. I expect the worst and work my way back from there. Usually reality ends up being better than I have been imagining. Such a pleasant surprise. Norem says that defensive pessimists cope just as well as optimists, sometimes with even better results.

Worrying is hard work. I'm glad there are benefits to it. Anyway, I can't stop now. I'm committed. Worrying has kept everyone safe so far. Worrying about your children is the most exhausting sort of worrying. Multiple children means even more worrying. Sometimes you can hardly keep it all straight. You have to put the kids in a rotation and prioritize their problems. Something might SEEM bad. Then something else happens. Lately we've heard a lot about Tiger Mom and Warrior Mom. Helicopter Mom is still hovering out there. I'm none of the above. I'm Worrier Mom.

I once heard an expression that a mother is only as happy as her saddest child. She's also only as well as her sickest child. In this relationship, perhaps the most symbiotic and intimate of them all - it's difficult to know where one of you stops and the other begins. Yes, most women (though these days certainly not all) who become mothers have had a man inside their bodies. But, let's face it, he wasn't in there for nine straight months.

When something has gone wrong with one of my kids I've had a silent mantra. Just let it be fixable. Even if it's REALLY bad, please, please let it be fixable. So far, everything has been and I feel so fortunate and grateful for that. With three daughters there have been enough illnesses and accidents to keep me on alert. Maybe not code red, but a lot of yellow and orange.

Recently Lucy took a hit in the head (from her surfboard) and sustained a concussion. It went from being diagnosed as mild to obviously more serious. Two weeks passed before she had any semblance of normal energy. Now, three weeks later, she's still VERY tired and gets headaches if she tries to do too much. Her battery is so drained that when I sit next to her I can literally feel her taking some of my energy. She's going to be fine. It's just going to take more time. And rest and food and loving care. As for me, when Lucy's completely well, I'll start recuperating.