I'm supposed to be taking a break from work today, a day to relax, but still I worry. I was raised on worry, taught it at a young age by my mother and my father, fed a daily diet of it for many years. The world is not a safe place. Bad things happen. Don't think that. Don't be like that. How should I be? Is it wrong to be me?
Worry has carved deep ruts into my brain and my heart, ruts that sometimes I can't climb out of without help. The worry serves no purpose but it is so familiar. I wear it like a familiar old jacket. It fits my body, although of late it feels too tight, restrictive even. I recognize it's smell and the feel of it against my skin.
I breathe. I tell myself to breathe. In and out, that this will help. I try. Breathe in, breathe out and fall back into a rut. My brain races. I snap. I feel irritated for no good reason. I breathe in, breathe out. I want out of these ruts.
I'm rereading a very good book, "Becoming The Kind Father" by Calvin Sandborn. Although he is talking about men, his idea of a kind parent resonates with me. I am not kind to myself. I beat myself up. I have a nonstop reel inside my head that tells me shit and pushes me back into those ruts.
Who the fuck convinced me that I was such an awful person? That's what I want to know. And why? Why did they do that? Or was it just me? Did I convince myself that I was this awful person?
I look around and wonder how others do it. How do they get through life? What do they tell themselves? Would it work for me? Is it even me?
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