I worry every now and then. Especially when it comes to my son. I worried and cried and prayed so hard for each time he fell off the bed or bumped his head or he was sick and brought to the hospital. I worry that I am not a good mom and that my shortcomings will affect his growth and maturity. I worry that my husband and I will not be able to provide for him well.
I worry about my health and my husband's and my parents'. I worry that I might come down with a disease that will handicap me and that will make me a burden to my husband.
I used to worry about client complaints and quality of work. I used to have sleepless nights wondering how i'll resolve a conflict or issue at work. I'm glad I have rid myself of the job and consequently, the sometimes unfounded worries.
Of course, I can not apply the same solution to the other aspects of my life. I most certainly cannot get rid of my son so I can stop worrying about his welfare. I can't wish myself dead or my parents or my husband just so I won't worry about their health.
Worrying is a waste of energy. I used to have disturbing Sunday night anxieties which led to restless sleep and bad Mondays... and bad week. It was a vicious cycle.
I'm grateful I don't worry as much now. I have turned to prayers and writing and playing with my son. He is an abundant source of joy and hope and faith.
Sunday night anxieties were replaced with wonderful routines such as menu planning for the week, cooking, magazine reading and organizing my to do's and work schedule. I feel that I have a lot more control of my life now.
Past experiences have taught me that things almost always work out for the best, so why worry? We stumble, we fall, we pick up scars along the way but we live and move on, so why worry? If you worry and your worry doesn't happen, you worried in vain. If you worry and it happened, you worry twice. There's no winning with worry.
Easier said than done, but it certainly is good to remember to ask - Why worry?!?
I have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened. - Mark Twain