One of the things that anxiety is incredibly good at is preventing us from taking action without a great deal of unproductive thought.
When we are anxious our brains go into overdrive, looking at the situation from this angle and that one desperately trying to establish a way of removing the burdensome feeling of dread.
Our belief that thinking about something hard enough will make it go away is frequently the strategy that keeps us mired in anxiety.
I’m forcing another tea towel around the base of the dripping kitchen tap wondering why I didn’t take action months ago when I noticed the telltale signs of water whenever I filled the kettle.
Before I can empty the under sink drawer, which is also now gradually filling with water, I get a text from my daughter.
She’d been preparing herself to meet her boyfriends’ parents at his flat but there’s been a change of plan and now they’re headed to his parent’s house where she’ll also have to meet all of his extended family.
“I’m so far out of my comfort zone on so many levels and I don’t know what to do to calm down.”
I want to write back,
“Just accept the discomfort and do it. You’ll find it will all be absolutely fine.”
In the end, I settle for something more considered and I send a series of texts featuring my best advice for anxious daughters.
“It will get easier when you arrive.”
“It’s only a few hours.”
“They’ll really like you because everyone does.”
“You can call or text me. I’ll keep my phone with me.”
“It’s anxiety and it feels horrible but it can’t hurt you.”
“Tell Casey how you feel. It will help you calm down.”
Essentially, the subtext of all of this is, “just get on with it, you’ll be OK.” What it definitely isn’t is, “keep thinking about it until you start to feel calmer,” because that never works.
Predictably, I don’t hear from her again until the following day when she lists all the things that she’d have been terrified of happening which did actually happen and acknowledges that she managed all of them.
“It went quite well,” she says.
The plumber comes later in the day.
I’ve been quoted was seems like an astronomical price but I tell myself it might be an especially tricky tap to replace.
He’s in and out in less than half an hour.
“Shall I get the office to send you over an invoice?”
I begin to feel anxious about the possibility I’m being played.
Perhaps it was a job they didn’t want and so they quoted a high price to put me off and were delighted when I accepted it.
I start to write an email asking for a more detailed breakdown and then stop again when I consider the other work they’ve done for me in the past and how useful it is to have a reliable plumber.
My daughter comes in.
“Nice taps.”
I tell her the story and my anxiety about being taken for a fool.
“Do you like the job they’ve done?”
“Yes,” I say.
“So why does it matter that they did it quickly. Would you have preferred they took two hours banging about in the house?”
She has a point.
“Also, taps are really expensive.” (She used to date a plumber).
I stop thinking about it, pay the invoice, and find that I immediately feel much better.
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