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What, Me Worry?

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The Tampa Tribune

Published: February 18, 2009

We were riding in the car when I began to talk about what was on my mind. Listening intently, my husband's eyes were focused on the highway ahead and the traffic behind. As I waxed eloquent, he slowly turned to me and lifted his palm in a "stop" signal, and I knew I was doing it again.

Unproductive worry comes naturally to me. My mother did it, and so did hers. Whether we came by it genetically or by example is irrelevant. I think it becomes a habit early in life, and at this little-past-middle age, I've decided to break it. I hope it's not too late.

Changing destructive behavior is a huge commitment. It's painful and draining, and requires recognizing the error of your ways. So I have enlisted my husband as my coach. Throughout our 46 year marriage I have watched him deal with worries, and until now, his method has been invisible to me. Whereas I have an amphitheater of concerns, he has cubicles, sometimes cubbyholes, for his worries! He compartmentalizes, I thought, as I watched him smile gently and lower his hand.

I have to learn to do that, and I'm not sure I can. It feels like the difference between drowning in a tsunami and surfing on the waves. He uses the power of the worry-water to move him and I battle the onslaught, often feeling as if I have no control.

So Oscar and I have made a pact. Since worry is such an integral part of my personality, I'm not even aware of when I'm going off the deep end. Now we have arranged a silent signal: the raised hand. It says many things. You're doing it again. I love you. Please stop because this is neither productive nor good for you.

Very slowly I am learning to find those cubbyholes. And I understand now that verbalizing my worries was a tool to rid myself of the responsibility of dealing with them. I was seeking outside affirmation when I should have been focused on action: putting them where they belong. Genuine worries call us to perform. General worries deplete and destroy. I need to learn to distinguish between them

Now when I find myself ruminating worriedly about my children and grandchildren, when health issues emerge, when politics enrage me and I fear for the future of our country, when media advertising and fear-mongering release those molecules of anxiety and discomfort into my bloodstream, I see my husband's silent hand and warm smile and I stop to take inventory. Can I do anything? Should I?

If the answer is yes, I act. If the answer is no, I find a cubbyhole.

Judy Kramer can be reached by e-mail at JudyandOz@tampabay.rr.com.

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