My mother's constant companion is worry. If there's nothing to worry about, she will find something. I've watched it rob her of so much. She runs on about 4 hours of sleep a night. Her worry has changed nothing in the course of events over the years.
My dad says Mom has earned her place in heaven because she's a martyr, and I want to cry and scream when he says that. There are no medals for being a martyr. How sick and dysfunctional is that? It hurts my heart.
Whenever I start to feel worry creeping in, I sit still and take a few deep breaths. Then I close my eyes, and visualize this big set of loving hands. I take whatever it is that I am worrying about, place it all in those hands, and say "God, I'm turning this over to you."
I used to do that dozens of times a day, over and over again. As time went on, it just became second nature and I wasn't taking it back nearly as often.
It takes work to undo old behaviors, but it's worth it.
