Worrywart

I’ve been a lifelong worrywart. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. The problem eased up when I first retired, and no longer had to worry about job performance or cranky bosses. But now in my seventies, I’ve grown a whole new crop of worries. My memory’s getting patchy; do I have dementia? My back keeps hurting from spinal stenosis; how much worse is the pain going to get? I move slowly now and my balance is wonky; how much longer can I live independently? In the past, I did all my worrying in my head. But now it hits me right in the gut, robbing me of my appetite and a good night’s sleep. Of course I know that worrying is a waste of time and energy, but I haven’t been able to wrestle it down.

Why is this happening? I’m no psychologist, but I think it’s because, as my mind and body age, the changes make me feel more vulnerable, less in control. I’m not sure I can rely on myself now to solve my problems, trust my own judgment, run my life. In reality I’m still doing fine, and I know that if I become noticeably incompetent my Power of Attorney people will step in. But I’m not looking forward to living through that stretch from now till then.

The internet is full of tips for dealing with worry. Most of them seem to be pretty self-evident; you could probably come up with them yourself. So far I haven’t found them to be especially useful, but I’ll keep trying. It’s not a quick fix; there’s no easy way to cope with uncertainty.