when worry takes over

I hug my warm tea and take a deep breath. I can do hard things. I know I can. But this has been hard. This has been scary. And I am exhausted. At this moment worry is large and in charge.

I want my boys home. I need my boys home. The waiting might be one of the hardest things I have ever done. I was good yesterday. I was good this morning. But as the afternoon has ticked on the gurgle of worry and the bubble of angst has been ever present.

What is worry really? I keep trying to push it away, smile, put on a brave face and squash the feelings but at this moment I am sitting with my worry. I am allowing it to consume me. I am feeling every prickly needle throughout my entire body. And for now, for this moment, that is okay.

As the worry courses through my body I can feel a shift. It starts with one breath – breathe in, pause, exhale. And another – breathe in, pause, exhale. And one more – breathe in, pause, exhale. I can still feel my heart thumping. But at least now I can breathe without my chest feeling like it is a thousand pounds and I have feeling in my legs again. So, I keep breathing. If I can breathe, I can move forward.

As I sit working through my deep breaths and walk this worrisome path, I give pause to wonder what is behind the worry. What drives it? Why can it consume you in one instant and then you float through the next? I am learning that worry is like any strong emotion … if you allow yourself to feel it, if you acknowledge it, you can walk through and in turn, learn how to lessen the impact the next time it pops up.

As my head clears, I know that worry is a symptom triggered by something I am scared of. And right now, the fear of losing my children is what is driving my worry. It is a fear of loss. Two giant pieces of my heart are stuck 6200 km away in a country that is under martial law and I am at the mercy of others to ensure their safe passage home. I have zero control over what is to happen and when. As a mother, you would do anything to protect your children and right now, I am helpless. My worse fear of losing two of my boys has shot out of the inner depths of my heart and has been slapping me repeatedly in the face for the past eight days.

I know that they are safe. They are heathy. And they are fed. I know they will be home. I just don’t know when. They need to come home. The longer this goes on the more frequently my worry cycles in and out. Canada is sending planes to Peru – yeah! Followed quickly by … will my boys be on one of those planes? How do I find out? How will I know? Ugh. The waiting …

But for now, I control what I can control. I have recognized the fear. I have acknowledged it. And I move through it.

Breathe in, pause, exhale. And repeat.

xo

** Update: the boys were fortunate enough to get on a repatriation flight and are now safe at home and we are self-isolating as a family - I am so very grateful for everyone who worked so hard to get the kids home.

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