Turn Your Worry Into Wonder

There is a term I like to use. It’s blissfully unaware. It’s a place and feeling rolled into one.

Many of us do this at different times in our lives. We live blissfully unaware.

For example, I knew nothing of the emotional pain of a miscarriage until I lost my first baby.

I knew nothing of the worry that comes with a child that isn’t developing typically until it was my own son.

I knew nothing of the cruelness and brutality of cancer until it took my stepmom.

I knew nothing of white privilege until George Floyd was killed in the city next to mine.

It’s not that I didn’t say a silent prayer, or share a post on the topic, or even try and learn more when these things occurred adjacent to me. But that was it probably.

Because I was blissfully unaware. And me and you are happy to live in this place until we are faced with whatever it may be. Because we are human. We only know what we experience.

But we grow up right? We experience the world around us. We see, we feel, we learn and ultimately, we do better. Because we know better.

I became an expert in worrying when my baby didn’t start babbling. Actually, it started with his lack of sleep. Then his confusion by the world. His nonstop cries.

Until one day, I sat him on a brightly colored rug at a ‘mommy and me’ class next to a dozen toddlers his age, and reality hit me like a freight train.

I was no longer blissfully unaware. I knew. And I couldn’t deny.

From that moment on, the worry consumed me. Day. Night. In the shower. Driving in the car. During a date night with my husband.

I let the worry become my gospel. My truth.

Until I had lost my wonder about the yellow haired boy with ruddy cheeks who saw the world differently. Instead I worried. As if it was my job. And I missed out on his wonder for many years because of it.

I’m telling you this friend, because I want you to do everything in your power, to turn that worry into wonder.

Take it from an old war-horse mom like me…

There is no joy in the worry. Only grief. It’s like being in a room with endless doors. And you just keep opening, and running, only to find more doors. You will never get anywhere. You will never outrun the problems. And you will never move on.

When my son was seven, I turned my energy to ‘wonder.’ I shifted my way of thinking.

Today, I no longer worry that my son will never speak. But I do wonder what he would say to me if he suddenly started talking.

I no longer worry if he will ride a bike or make a friend, or send me a text message. But I do wonder. And hope. And pray.

Some worries are stronger than me. You should know that too.

The cruelty of the world.

Who will care for him after I’m gone?

Am I doing enough?

Am I missing something?

Am I strong enough?

But those are it. Those are the worries I will carry with me. They are on my back, weighing me down. In fact, I wonder if they are visible. Scars maybe. Because they run so deep.

But the rest, it’s all wonder.

This kid and I have a lot of life to live together. And we will do it with wonder leading the way.

#worryvswonder

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