Those microscopic moments when my mind is suspended in a rare, unworried state are like those bubbles my kids used to blow through wands and chase around in the driveway. Iridescent orbs stretching into the sunshine—glimmering but fleeting.
Such a moment might occur when . . .
- I’m drifting asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie, and my husband drapes a soft blanket over me.
- I’m walking briskly around the nearby lake and endorphins are dancing in my brain.
- I’m admiring my newly vacuumed bedroom with opened windows and freshly laundered pillow covers.
- The garage door is opening, signaling my 17-year-old is home safe after track practice or a night out with her friends.
- My 15-year-old, still half asleep with a mop of bed head, is briefly resting his chin on my shoulder in the middle of a morning hug before ambling to the pantry for his usual box of Frosted Flakes.
- I’m sneaking a peek at my 12-year-old singing in the upstairs bathroom, her hair twisted up in a towel as she lathers another one of her frosty facial masks onto her face.
- I’m sauteing onions and garlic, drinking a glass of Merlot, with The Voice in the background on my little countertop TV.
But as we all know, the delicate shells of these moments are temporal. Inevitably, they grow thin or catch the edge of a jagged branch. They pop into splatters of sticky droplets . . . then worries and what-ifs begin roaming the corners of my mind once again.
. . . What if she doesn’t feel ready? What if he doesn’t make it? What if she doesn’t have anyone to go with? What if I can’t find a parking spot? What if he can’t get hold of us? What if it’s not a good fit? What if our plane falls from the sky? What if the global order collapses? What if people read this and think it’s dumb or that I’m going nuts?
Despite a healthy sense of humor, a large family support system, a belief in a sovereign God, an ongoing supply of chocolate, and quiet mornings dedicated to untangling my thoughts into sentences on the blank page, it’s a monumental achievement for an over-thinker like me to give myself over to a sheer moment of calm and peace.
Not all worry is a waste, though. We need a few fight-or-flight hormones surging through us to navigate potential dangers and solve problems. And a genuine concern for others motivated by love is something this world desperately needs.
It’s when the worry is driven by fear, doesn’t have a goal, paralyzes us, and puts up barriers—then it’s time to reframe my perspective.
It’s time.
I read somewhere that if we could see our worries in their true light and reduce them to their proper size, they could fit into one drinking glass. One glass. Surely, I can handle one glass of worries. I like that image, but how the heck do you measure worry in ounces? Let’s look at a scientific stat instead:
Some studies show only 8 percent of our worries are legitimate concerns and the rest of the 92 percent are futile because they are either out of our control or never happen.
If I look back through the years, I suppose there could be some truth in that . . .
Like the time in grade school when I worried for weeks I was going to be the only girl in gym class who couldn’t do a cartwheel during the upcoming gymnastics unit. I wasn’t.
Or the time I didn’t know anyone in my Spanish class and fretted I wouldn’t be able to find a partner for the mid-term project. I did.
Or the time I was afraid my 12-week-old, who wouldn’t take a bottle, would starve when I went back to work part-time. She didn’t.
Or the bazillions of times I’ve worried about my kids at school or field trips or social gatherings or try-outs or on bike rides. Usually, things turned out fine. When things didn’t go so fine—someone felt left out, didn’t get invited, got cut from a team, lost their new boots, didn’t pass the driver’s test, sprained their ankle, forgot their game shorts, got stuck in the snow, got stung by bees . . . well, we all got through it, learned something, and in some cases, realized it was for the best.
Some of that seemingly minor stuff can feel awful at the moment, but right now it’s all paling in comparison to the worries whirling in me today.
The world is getting crazier. Everyone I love is getting older, right along with me. And too soon I’m going to be required to somehow drive away after dropping my first-born off at a college campus. Thinking about the slew of inevitable changes, transitions, losses, goodbyes, and uncertainties looming ahead—although dripping with blessings—is sending me into a tailspin.
The good news is that getting a handle on it is in my control.
Each day I wake up, I’ve got a choice, of course:
I can allow the worries to make me feel nauseous, enmesh me in stagnation, and shrink my world.
Or I can release them, one exhalation at a time, into the sunshine to the One perfectly capable of carrying the burdens of the world who has been there all along patiently waiting for me to let go and trust. “So do not fear, I am with you.” (Isaiah 41:10).
In other words, Julie Jo, put down the bag of chocolate chips, get off your brooding bum, and go blow some bubbles.
I’m Julie Jo Severson, mom to two teens and a tween, freelance writer, editor, and co-author of HERE IN THE MIDDLE: Stories of Love, Loss, and Connection from the Ones Sandwiched in Between.
This blog, Carvings on a Desk, is where I reconnect with my own voice swirling around in the middle. Read other recent stories.
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If there were prizes given out for worrying I’d definitely get one! Personally, I find that worries are always worse in the middle of the night – probably because you’re alone while the rest of the world sleeps. As my kids get older I find that while I may worry less, I worry more intently.
Yep the middle of the night can be tough. I always hope I’ll get a respite from worrying as my kids get older, but I’m starting to think that’s not necessarily the case. All the more reason to get a handle on it.
Every time I hear a siren. I’m not sure that will ever go away. That quote you posted about how worry robs us peace. Spot on and I think of it often. Wonderful piece here on peace.
Yes, that quote by Corrie ten Boom. Reading anything she’s written will reframe anyone’s perspective. Thanks Rebecca!
Ah yes, perspective is everything. When I am caught up in those bubbles of worry, I ask myself, “Okay what was I worried about a year ago at this same date?” and of course I can’t remember what had me waking up in the night with anxiety. Somehow that helps me put the present day worry into perspective.
Yes! I try to do that same thing! Looking back and realizing something that was such a big deal now is now hardly a blip is reassuring for sure.
I compliment you not only on your writing (which is excellent) but on you perspective on life. Keep those children safe and be well.
Barbara Torris
Thank you Barbara!
I’m a member of the overthinkers club. Great to meet you, fellow worry wart!
I read once that there IS value in worrying, as long as the worry doesn’t create paralysis. Worriers work out worst-case scenarios and are ultimately better prepared for when bad stuff DOES happen. Or so said that study. Though I worry that may be just a bunch of baloney another worrier made up. 🤪
Ha! Great to meet you too! 🙂
I can relate – I’m a natural-born worrier, too. I’ve really really worked on being present, trusting and not allowing my worries to manifest themselves. I’m almost (next year) an empty nester, and weirdly, it’s helped. I recently wrote about ‘re-framing weakness’ on my blog, and I think we have a lot in common! Thanks for the great post.
I love that image of the one glass. Yes, we can handle one glass!
Even I can:-) Thanks Nina.
Julie Jo, this was perfect for what I have been struggling with lately. Today marks the five year anniversary of a controversial cancer surgery I had, where according to an article only 50% of patients having this procedure have their lives extended by five years. It is such a mind game, being tempted to worry instead of just enjoying life. I have to meditate on the verse – be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Phil 4:6-8 Thankful for this day and to have connected with you!:)
Wow. Christina. That’s a whole other level of worry. You are a courageous woman. I’m so glad you stopped by, shared that verse, which I needed to hear, too. Glad to connect with you, too!
” . . .it’s a monumental achievement for an over-thinker like me to give myself over to a sheer moment of calm and peace.” I just cried, “Amen, sister” when I read this sentence. I love that image of reducing our worries to a single glass. And when measured against the infinite power and love of our God, it’s really not even a big glass!! Thanks for this encouragement to release those worries to Him… it takes a lot of intentional effort for us “overthinkers”–but blog posts like this are part of what helps me tame those anxious thoughts.
It’s always so awesome to hear when a post resonates with others. Thanks Amy!
Hi Julie, why don’t we hang out more? Even virtually? 🙂 We should change that. I loved the beautiful way you summed up the non-worried moments. I don’t get enough of those. There is always so much running, so much change to routine happening. You know what scripture I forgot in my list but that I hold on to? It’s Psalm 12:6-7 “Surely the righteous will never be shaken;
they will be remembered forever.
They will have no fear of bad news;
their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord.”
I always say to myself – the righteous have no fear of bad news! And that helps too. It’s funny because I’ve been reading a lot about people worrying lately. I wonder if it’s the season? I tend to notice more struggles in this area in springtime.
Wonderful to see you here, Jennie! Thank you. “no fear of bad news.” Wow. What a wonderful way to live. That is going to be resonating with me for a long time. That’s where I want my head and heart to be! Yeah, there is something about spring that does bring out a lot of my anxieties. Maybe it’s because it signals change. Early fall does that a little, too.
“Or I can release them, one exhalation at a time, into the sunshine to the One perfectly capable of carrying the burdens of the world who has been there all along patiently waiting for me to let go and trust. “So do not fear, I am with you.” (Isaiah 41:10).” Ah… As always, your words speak to me, Julie. They ALWAYS do.
Thank you for unpacking these tides that seem to wash up on my shore relentlessly…. Very few bubbles blowing these days.