Dear Apprehensive Me: When the Fear of What Might Happen Becomes Too Heavy

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How many times a day do your nerves get the best of you?

How do you handle an intense flood of emotions running through your veins?

For me, I do not always handle it well.

I pick at myself.

I ruminate.

I think about all the things that make me sad.

All the things that make me feel bad.

And then I spiral.

Today was one of those days.

Waiting for Something Bad to Happen

I mentioned yesterday that I had been feeling off.

I had this sense that something was coming.

Something was going to happen.

I thought it would happen next week.

There was already a meeting scheduled.

I was not entirely sure what the meeting was about.

I did not know all the ins and outs.

But it did not sound good.

And I was nervous.

Instead of talking to someone about it, I let it sit inside me.

I did not work through it.

I did not release it.

I carried it.

And it ate at me.

When Anxiety Makes You Physically Sick

By the time I woke up this morning, I physically felt ill.

My stomach was in knots.

I felt nauseous.

I felt sick.

I already knew it was not going to be the kind of day I wanted.

So I made plans accordingly.

I laid back down.

Sometimes anxiety starts before the event happens.

Before the phone call.

Before the meeting.

Before anyone confirms that something is wrong.

Your body is already responding to the possibility.

Mine certainly was.

The Meeting Was Suddenly Today

When I woke up the second time, I had two different text messages asking me for the same thing.

The meeting that was supposed to happen next week needed to happen today.

At 10:30.

Okay.

Well, if I was not already feeling sick, that made it worse.

There was no time to prepare the way I thought I would have.

No time to ease into it.

No time to get comfortable with the idea.

It was happening.

Today.

I Hoped the Shower Would Wash It Away

I got up.

I got dressed.

I took a shower and hoped the water would somehow wash all the feelings away.

It did not work.

I got dressed.

I woke my kid up.

I told him what was happening.

I needed him there at 10:30.

Then I went into the living room and sat down.

I started picking at myself.

Rubbing my fingers across my thumb.

Feeling the anxiety build.

And build.

And build.

Until I felt like I might explode.

Today Seemed Like a Good Day for an Anxiety Pill

I looked at my husband and said:

I think I should take an anxiety pill.

I am not going to.

But today seems like it would be a good day to take one.

I refused.

My thought process was that if I could work through it on my own, I did not want to medicate it.

So I did what I usually do.

Distract.

Distract.

Distract.

I picked up my phone.

I started scrolling through TikTok.

I hoped it would help.

And it did.

But it also did not.

The Message I Did Not Know I Needed

While scrolling, I noticed that one of my kiddos had tagged me in a post.

If you have teenagers, you know that is normal.

They tag you in things.

They send you things.

Most of the time, you open it without thinking too much about it.

So I opened the post.

And I immediately started crying.

It was about having a second mom.

Yesterday, I talked about struggling with the feeling that I am not a mom.

And somehow, she sent me exactly what I needed to see.

I do not know whether she heard yesterday’s podcast.

I do not know whether she had any idea how much I needed those words.

But I needed them.

Especially before that meeting.

I Felt Like I Was Losing One of My Children

Before the meeting, I felt like I was losing one of my children.

I did not know how to cope with that.

I did not know what to do.

I did not know what the next steps would be.

I did not know what was going to change.

I did not know what I was supposed to prepare myself for.

But that post reminded me that I was still a mom.

Maybe not in every way I once imagined.

Maybe not in the neat, traditional way people expect.

But I was still a mom.

And I needed that reminder before walking into that room.

The Meeting Was Nothing Like I Expected

We arrived at the meeting.

We sat down.

And it was completely different from what I thought it would be.

I had tried to prepare myself mentally.

I did not want to feel ambushed.

But I still felt ambushed because the meeting was not what I expected at all.

Was it pleasant?

Absolutely not.

Was it better or worse than what I imagined?

I honestly do not know.

It was simply different.

Gross.

Hard.

Scary.

And unnecessary.

Two Hours of Manufactured Doom

They took something that probably could have been an email and turned it into an almost two-hour meeting.

Almost two hours of anxiousness.

For everyone involved.

They created this overwhelming sense of doom.

Then, at the end, it was essentially:

Just kidding.

Nothing is changing.

We are going to leave everything the same.

Excuse me?

You could have told us that without emotionally draining the entire family.

You could have communicated without building fear.

You could have explained the situation without making everyone feel as though the bottom was about to fall out.

But that is not what happened.

We Were Emotionally Drained

When the meeting ended, saying we were emotionally drained would be an understatement.

I made plans to get coffee with my kid.

While he got dressed, I stepped outside to talk to my husband.

I knew he was carrying big emotions too.

I told him we were going to get coffee.

He decided to lie down.

It was a lot.

Too much, honestly.

My kid and I went to get coffee.

We made jokes.

We talked.

We tried to settle into something normal.

But I knew it still felt heavy.

How could it not?

Even the Jokes Could Not Make the Weight Disappear

We got our coffee.

We sat together.

We talked.

We laughed.

But the heaviness stayed.

I turned on the television because that is another one of my coping strategies.

I put on the ID channel and let other people’s problems relax my mind.

That probably says something about me.

But it works.

At least sometimes.

Today, though, I was exhausted.

Not regular tired.

Not I-could-use-a-nap tired.

I could barely keep my eyes open.

The Weird Commercial Was the Final Straw

Some random commercial came on.

The man’s face looked strange.

Something about it was incredibly awkward.

I turned to my kid and said:

That was awkward.

He agreed.

And I decided I was done.

I told him I was going to bed.

I got up.

The dogs followed me.

I went to my room.

He went to his room.

And I think every single one of us passed out.

My Body Shut Down

Everything caught up with us at once.

We were done.

I do not think I have ever fallen asleep as quickly as I did today.

And I am already someone who falls asleep easily.

That is not usually a struggle for me.

When I am tired, I lie down and go to sleep.

But today, I think I was asleep before I even hit the pillow.

I do not remember the transition.

I remember getting into bed.

I remember telling my husband I was going to lie down.

And then nothing.

Gone.

For the rest of the afternoon.

None of Us Were Functioning

I think we finally got up around five.

I was done.

My husband was done.

I went to check on my kid because I was hungry.

He was done too.

None of us were functioning.

That was not a thing.

It simply was not happening.

And somehow, despite all of that, we were expected to put our worlds back together as if nothing had happened.

The World Keeps Scheduling Things

I started receiving messages and phone calls.

People wanted to schedule meetings.

Appointments.

More conversations.

As though today had not been one of the hardest days we had experienced together.

As though we had not just spent hours bracing for our family to be rearranged.

As though emotional exhaustion should disappear the second a meeting ends.

The world keeps moving.

The calendar keeps filling.

The phone keeps ringing.

And you are expected to keep up.

Even when your body and mind have already said:

No more.

This Is What It Feels Like to Be Inside the System

That is what it is like to be involved in the system.

In any way.

As a child.

As an adult.

As a foster parent.

As a kinship placement.

As anyone whose family is being discussed and decided upon by people outside of it.

You are left in the dark.

People make decisions about your life.

Your home.

Your relationships.

Your family.

And you wait.

Patiently.

Anxiously.

Sometimes so anxiously that you become physically sick.

I Slept, but I Was Still Exhausted

I slept for hours.

And I was still exhausted.

I will probably go to bed tonight and immediately fall asleep again.

I may even take an anxiety pill tonight because I am still that on edge.

The meeting ended.

The immediate threat passed.

But my body did not get that message.

My nervous system was still standing in the room.

Still waiting.

Still bracing.

Still afraid that someone would say one more thing that changed everything.

How Is My Sixteen-Year-Old Supposed to Process This?

I am an adult.

I am barely managing my own emotions.

So how is my sixteen-year-old supposed to process the fuckery of what happened today?

How does he make sense of it?

How does he trust that everything is okay when the adults around him created two hours of fear before saying nothing was changing?

How does he settle back into normal?

I do not think any of us know how.

None of us know where to begin.

How Do You Repair the Rift?

We know something has to happen.

We know there is work ahead.

We know we are going to have to repair what today damaged.

But where do you begin?

How do you fix something when it feels like the bottom fell out?

How do you rebuild trust after someone makes you believe your life is about to be rearranged?

How do you tell yourself everything is fine when your body is still reacting as though it is not?

I do not know.

The Wrinkled Piece of Paper

People use the metaphor of the piece of paper.

You start with a clean, crisp sheet.

Someone takes it and balls it up.

Then they keep crushing it.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Eventually, they apologize.

They straighten the paper back out.

They smooth it with their hands.

They try to return it to the way it looked before.

But the wrinkles remain.

You cannot make them disappear.

The paper may still be usable.

It may still be whole.

But it is not untouched.

There Is No Magic Wand

In a perfect world, we could wave a magic wand.

Everything would return to the way it was supposed to be.

The fear would disappear.

The trust would return.

The anxiety would leave our bodies.

But this is not a perfect world.

This is a world filled with people.

People with emotions.

Thoughts.

Pain.

Trauma.

It is a world where you have to expect the unexpected.

Then expect something else after that.

Even the things that feel certain can become shaky.

How Do You Raise a Family Like This?

How do you raise a family when other people are constantly allowed to shift the ground beneath you?

How do you make it through the day?

I am not even speaking globally.

The world is scary enough already.

Things feel rocky and unstable everywhere.

But I am talking about the people who come in and out of my house.

People who tell me what we can do.

What we cannot do.

How we can do it.

When we can do it.

Where we can do it.

Who we can do it with.

And if they do not approve, they can rearrange my entire life.

Then I am expected to flow with it.

Children Are Expected to Act Like Adults

We expect grown-ass adults to manage these things.

That is already difficult.

Then we expect children to do it too.

We tell them:

You are not an adult.

I am not going to treat you like an adult.

But when I rearrange your entire life, I expect you to respond like one.

I expect maturity.

Emotional control.

Logic.

Cooperation.

Immediate acceptance.

That is not fair.

Understanding Does Not Make Something Easy

The days ahead are going to be hard.

There is going to be a lot of work required to make things feel remotely calm again.

We understand that.

But understanding something does not make it simple to manage.

It does not make it easy to maneuver.

There is this strange belief that once you understand why something must happen, you should automatically be okay with it.

That is not how emotions work.

I Can Understand and Still Want It to Stop

I can understand something logically.

I can understand the steps.

The reason.

The importance.

The intended outcome.

And my emotions can still scream:

Stop.

This does not make sense.

That is human nature.

That is mental health.

Understanding is not the same as emotional acceptance.

Knowing what is happening does not erase the pain of it happening.

You Are Asking Him to Move Mountains

Today, I heard adults tell my child repeatedly:

You have to make it work.

You have to make it work.

You have to make it work.

His response was not:

No, I refuse.

His response was:

You are asking a lot of me right now.

You are asking him to move mountains that were just shattered by an earthquake.

And somehow, because someone explained the logic, he is supposed to pick up every piece and rebuild immediately.

That is too much.

Logic Does Not Erase Feelings

We expect people to see the reasoning and suddenly become okay.

Now that you understand why this is happening, cooperate.

Now that you understand the plan, stop being upset.

Now that you know the logic, your feelings should disappear.

But feelings do not work that way.

Logic does not erase them.

It does not turn off sadness.

It does not automatically quiet fear.

It does not repair trust.

We Pretend Emotion Should Not Matter

I understand that some systems do not take emotion into account.

We live in a society that often acts as though emotions should not influence anything important.

Be logical.

Be rational.

Do not take it personally.

Do not react emotionally.

And yet, human beings are emotional.

Emotion is part of how we process the world.

It affects our choices.

Our bodies.

Our relationships.

Our ability to feel safe.

You cannot remove emotion from people and then become frustrated when people continue to feel.

Hug Your Family a Little Tighter

For those of you whose families are intact, hug them a little tighter.

Be grateful that you get to decide what happens inside your family.

Be grateful for the arguments that remain between the two of you.

Be grateful for the opportunity to talk.

To disagree.

To work things out.

To repair what happened without someone outside the family stepping in and making the decision for you.

That freedom matters.

Have the Hard Conversations

There are words that go unspoken.

There are conversations we avoid because they are uncomfortable.

Have them.

Have the difficult conversation.

Say the thing that needs to be said.

Talk about the issue before someone else has the conversation for you.

Because once someone else steps in, you may lose control.

Control of the timing.

The words.

The outcome.

The choices.

And once that control is gone, it is hard to get it back.

Really hard.

My Bite of Pie

My bite of pie today looked like surviving.

I did not have the capacity to deal with everything being thrown at me.

But whether I felt capable or not, I had to show up.

And I did.

I watched my kid show up too.

I watched my husband show up.

All of us walked into that meeting carrying fear.

All of us sat through it.

All of us made it to the other side.

Then I listened to my body when it said:

We are done.

We cannot take any more today.

So I stopped.

I went to bed.

Sometimes your bite of pie does not look like running a marathon.

It does not look like curing cancer.

It does not look impressive from the outside.

Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed.

Today, I got out of bed when all I wanted to do was hide inside it.

And eventually, I went back and hid in it.

That is okay.

It does not make me a failure.

It does not make me a disappointment.

It means I am someone who is making progress.

I showed up.

I survived.

I listened when my body said it had reached its limit.

That is growth.

Growth is showing up to this podcast and hearing something you recognize inside yourself.

Growth is acknowledging:

I have those feelings.

I have things I need to work on.

Growth is naming the elephant in the room.

The next step may be figuring out how to move it.

But you cannot move an elephant out of a room overnight.

At least, I cannot.

I am strong, but that seems like an impossible feat when I do not know how to train an elephant.

We are not always taught how to train our mental health.

We are taught how to wade through it.

So give yourself grace.

Acknowledge that you are growing.

Even when growth looks messy.

Even when growth looks like survival.

Even when growth looks like getting out of bed and eventually climbing right back into it.

Today is another page in the story.

It does not have to be perfect.

It just has to be written.

Before you close your journal tonight, ask yourself:

What was your bite of pie today?

Until tomorrow,

Love you loud.