When I don’t know what else to do, I write. It is my favorite way to sort out my thoughts and to untangle my raveled mind. I have to deconstruct the mountain of anxiety that I build with worry. Being me has an endless number of annoying challenges, but perhaps the toughest obstacle is staying positive and not immediately digging a figurative grave.

My poor kids… For their entire lives they have had to tolerate my overly active imagination and propensity to run straight to the worst possible outcome. When Katlyn was 12 years old I apprehensively let her walk two blocks from school to her grandma’s house. When I went to pick her up she wasn’t there. Instead of being rational and thinking that she might be at the book store (she was), I slowly drove all over town looking in ditches because I was just sure that she had been jumped by hooligans and was lying unconscious beside the road.

The day that Nathan got his driver’s license I nearly lost my mind because he missed curfew by five minutes. I just knew that he was in a horrendous accident. I got in my car and the search party ensued. He was fine. I was a bawling mess.

So, see? These are my tendencies. This is the level that I run on nearly all of the time. I completely bypass the mundane and immediately start planning the funeral.

This is where my people come in. I really am blessed to have them. The friend who sends me flowers because she has noticed my absence. The one who tells me that I am a better person than I give myself credit for. The one who reminds me to stay positive and to live in the moment. I wonder if I can ever properly convey how significant these souls are to me. The affirmations that they provide seem so elementary, but are crucial to my sanity.

I am not good with uncertainty. I am awful at waiting, which is where I am right now. Waiting. A new test of my patience and strength. I hope that I pass. I am not a religious person, but I do believe in energies. If any of you have love to spare, send it my way.