Dear Worry: A Breakup Letter

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Dear Worry,

Ok, I’ll come right out and say it: We need to talk.

This isn’t working out. I want to break up.

It’s not me. It’s you.

Worry, it’s over.

Before you say anything else, before you recount every single one of our last 24 years together, before you tempt me with another outrageous to-do list, before I can give you the chance to celebrate our 25th worry-versary with another stress-induced all-nighter… For once, it’s time that you listen to me.

Worry, you were filled with empty promises. You told me that if I paid attention to you, I was being responsible and good. You said that planning every detail of my future and losing my mind when it didn’t work out that exact way was a reasonable way to react.

You told me that life was lived only in the painstaking planning of days that did not yet exist. You whispered to me that being present was overrated. After all, how could I enjoy right now if I could not guarantee the future? And every single time, I took the bait.

You were never supportive or thoughtful. You didn’t pay attention to my needs. For years, I never thought twice about sacrificing all of my peace in order to please you.

But you were a cup with a hole in the bottom, and no matter how I tried, I could not please your appetite.

You seemed like the sensible, responsible choice. And God knows how much I value sensible, responsible choices. But you were always a lie – causing division in my relationships and wreaking havoc in my heart.

I tried to make it work. I tried to be nice to your friends – Stress, Anxiety, Frustration, Fear, and Control – but you were more loyal to them than you ever were to me.

And you brought your friends around a lot. And you know what? I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOUR FRIENDS. I tried to make them comfortable in my home, but they just ended up making a mess and stealing half my stuff when I wasn’t looking.

Stress often kept me from sleeping well. Anxiety kept me from breathing peacefully. Frustration kept me from communicating effectively, Fear usually kept me from enjoying the moment, and Control kept me from loving without an agenda more times then I can count.

You often convinced me of the irrational plausibility of a worst-case scenario for nearly every situation I encountered. You inspired doubt for every decision I made. You bullied me into a corner and told me that if I didn’t pay attention to you that my life would unravel. That the sun might not rise tomorrow. That no one would be there for me, that you were the only one capable of taking care of me.

You spent years trying to convince me that your name was Wisdom. It’s not. 

So, guess what, Worry? I’m calling your bluff.

It’s over. It’s not working out. You can’t come around anymore.

We are never, ever, ever getting back together.

Wait, what did you just say? Did you just ask if it’s too late now to say sorry?

Yes, Worry. Yes, it is.


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