As we finally enter into April, my initial shock over the
coronavirus pandemic is lifting. The first week and a half or so, I had a
weight on my chest, and my brain felt fogged over. This week I have felt more
myself, clearer-headed, lighter-chested. But I have moved from initial
overwhelm to the next phase: anticipatory anxiety.
And what’s anticipatory anxiety? It’s waiting for the other
shoe to drop. We’ve got the pandemic (shoe one), and now we’re waiting to see who
we know gets sick (shoe two). They are estimating several million people will
be infected by this before we are done—what are the chances at least one of
them isn’t in your circle of friends or family?
So now I am haunted with the waiting. As someone with
anxiety disorder, this type of anxiety has always been my undoing. I am good in
an actual crisis. Once I can see the enemy, know the parameters of the crisis,
I’m good to go. It’s the waiting that unravels me. Because I see every possible
path, and can follow each to the worst possible outcome. Over and over.
And so I lay in bed at night with the silent tears falling,
and see so many futures I don’t want to see. What if I get sick? What if my
husband and I both do, what happens to my daughter? What if my daughter gets
sick and needs to be hospitalized? Will they let me go with her? What if one or
both of my parents gets sick—especially if both of them do? Do I go to them,
knowing it’s for the duration and I can’t come home?
Anticipatory anxiety. The other shoe.
Each day to come will be a lesson in patience, a lesson in
seeking peace, a lesson in staying sane.
Anticipatory Anxiety: The Other Shoe – Lockdown Day 19
As we finally enter into April, my initial shock over the coronavirus pandemic is lifting. The first week and a half or so, I had a weight on my chest, and my brain felt fogged over. This week I have felt more myself, clearer-headed, lighter-chested. But I have moved from initial overwhelm to the next phase: anticipatory anxiety.
And what’s anticipatory anxiety? It’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’ve got the pandemic (shoe one), and now we’re waiting to see who we know gets sick (shoe two). They are estimating several million people will be infected by this before we are done—what are the chances at least one of them isn’t in your circle of friends or family?
So now I am haunted with the waiting. As someone with anxiety disorder, this type of anxiety has always been my undoing. I am good in an actual crisis. Once I can see the enemy, know the parameters of the crisis, I’m good to go. It’s the waiting that unravels me. Because I see every possible path, and can follow each to the worst possible outcome. Over and over.
And so I lay in bed at night with the silent tears falling, and see so many futures I don’t want to see. What if I get sick? What if my husband and I both do, what happens to my daughter? What if my daughter gets sick and needs to be hospitalized? Will they let me go with her? What if one or both of my parents gets sick—especially if both of them do? Do I go to them, knowing it’s for the duration and I can’t come home?
Anticipatory anxiety. The other shoe.
Each day to come will be a lesson in patience, a lesson in seeking peace, a lesson in staying sane.
Stay safe, stay well, stay home.
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