Anxious for no reason

Do you consider yourself an anxious person? I’ve always been high strung, even as a child, but anxiety didn’t creep in until my mid-fifties. I witnessed a shooting, my husband was diagnosed with cancer, and then I lost three of the most important people in my life.

Lately my anxiety is finding new ways to creep in. For example, yesterday I had eight bags of potting soil delivered so I can get my flowers and vegetables planted for the season. These bags weigh about forty pounds each, and I am not physically strong. The delivery driver left them by my garage door, so I moved them into the garage until someone can help me get them to the back deck. That was a workout my arms hadn’t had in a while!

Fast forward to bedtime. I rolled over onto my left shoulder and an ache shot all the way down my arm. Less than four hours later and I’ve already forgotten I just picked up over three hundred pounds of soil. My brain told me I might be having a heart attack, so I panicked. I jumped out of bed, shook out my arms, paced frantically flipping all the lights on in the house, contemplating calling 911. I knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but my brain was screaming otherwise and now my heart really was racing.

The anxiety escalated as I realized my house is locked up like Fort Knox at night. Firefighters would have to break down the front door to get in. And what if something happens to me in the middle of the night? How long would it take for someone to realize something is wrong? Like what if I don’t show up for work? Who will they call? No one has my son’s phone number. And if they called him, he couldn’t get in anyway (again, Fort Knox). What if I died and it was days before someone found me?

Clearly, I spiraled. When I couldn’t go back to sleep, I moved to the couch. I turned the music down low and woke up this morning with two forty-five-pound dogs on top of me.

My Joe knew exactly how to handle these situations. He would guide me to the car, turn the music on something soothing, and hold my hand as we drove around for hours. Since I can’t really drive myself around in the middle of an anxiety attack, I’m left with just the music.

This is what anxiety looks like. This is what grief looks like. I’m breathing easier this morning, my left arm doesn’t hurt, my boss now has my son’s phone number, and the dogs are enjoying a morning nap that I’m pretty sure will last until I get home for lunch.

There’s no lesson to be learned, no changes to be made, no way to get out of my own head unless I start baking in the middle of the night. Hmmm, I have been craving donuts.

How do you get out of your own head?