I Worried
by: Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not, how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopreless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
I can relate to this poem in so many ways. Worry has been a constant companion my whole life. I'm serious. When I was a young kid, I had a cyst removed from my neck, which led to me worrying about childhood cancer. When I was a teenager, I ended up in ICU in a diabetic coma. Since that time, I've had a lifelong fear of going to sleep, having a low blood sugar in the middle of the night, and never waking up. My adult fears are multitude, from COVID to flat tires to unemployment to bankruptcy and everything in between. If there was an Oscar for Best Worrier in a Leading Role, I would be the frontrunner.
This penchant for worry leads to a lot troubles, not the least of which is sadness and depression, which I've been seriously struggling with for about eight or nine months now. The way I usually combat worry and depression is by keeping busy. I put my head down and immerse myself in work all day until I'm too tired to think about anything but sleep. I don't give myself time to feel anxious or sad.
For the most part, this tactic works, I am able to keep my head above water instead of drowning in a sea of indecision and confusion. However, it also gives me tunnel vision. I achieve my goals, but sometimes at a great cost to my mental and physical health, as well as my relationships with family and friends. I was reminded of this fact very recently.
The opposite of faith isn't doubt, as most people think. No, the opposite of faith is worry. As a lifelong Christian, I've been told again and again to trust in God. God will take care of me, especially in times of great distress. That's easier said than done, especially when you're at the bottom of a deep hole. I KNOW God is with me, watching over me, holding me up. That doesn't make my shitty days any less shittier.
Now, I put up a good front. If you see me out in public, I will be smiling, joking, interacting with the energy of Martha Stewart at a dinner party. My jobs require this of me, and I pride myself at being good at what I do. But the worry and sadness are still there, whispering in my ear, eating lunch with me, causing me to pause for several seconds before I dive into another task. I've learned to live with them, push them aside, muscle forward.
(SIDE NOTE: I do see a therapist for regular appointments. I am depressed, not in denial.)
If you're a worrier, you're not alone. If you struggle with depression, you're not alone. You're human in a broken world.
And now Saint Marty will publish this post and start worrying about playing church services tomorrow morning.
❤️
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