I have a complicated relationship with travel. While I genuinely love the idea of exploring new places, my anxiety is always there, working tirelessly to keep me grounded. Traveling with family is challenging enough, but the thought of going solo? That’s when my anxiety really kicks into overdrive.
This past weekend, I took a solo trip to Muncie, Indiana (try to contain your envy of such an exotic destination) for a Midwest Writers Conference. Initially, when I signed up, my anxiety adopted a gentler approach. It whispered, “This is a luxury you can’t afford. Writing is just a hobby; it won’t lead to anything significant. Plus, your novel isn’t ready, and your writing isn’t good enough to share. Why not wait until next year? Or the year after? An online conference might be a safer choice. After all, who wants to see your face? You’re just not attractive enough.”
Yes, anxiety plays dirty.
When I finally decided to go (thanks to my supportive partner who booked my hotel), my anxiety revealed its true colors. It unleashed a torrent of fears, and here’s a glimpse of just ten of the ridiculous reasons it tried to convince me to cancel my trip:
- Your home will catch fire.
- Your family might get into a terrible car accident, leaving you alone with your three cats, who would probably consume you if you were to pass away.
- You could get into a car accident yourself, leaving your partner to remarry someone much more attractive.
- One of your kids could choke on a grape, despite your efforts to avoid buying them.
- One child might fall out of a window.
- Another could run into traffic.
- One might accidentally lock themselves in the washing machine.
- A sibling could put their head in a plastic bag.
- Your partner could have a heart attack in the shower, leaving you to deal with the fallout.
- You might end up as a crime statistic, like in those shows where women traveling alone go missing.
These thoughts—yes, they filled my mind during the entire 11-hour drive and haunted me for weeks leading up to the trip. And believe me, these are just the milder fears; anxiety has a way of stirring up much worse scenarios.
If I let my anxiety take over, I’d be perfectly content to stay home in my pajamas, escaping reality with a book and a box of snacks. Meanwhile, I’d keep my kids in padded rooms, giving them only IV fluids and a diet devoid of any choking hazards.
But here’s the truth: I refuse to let anxiety dictate my life. I want to be the role model my children need. To raise kids who can manage their fears, I must demonstrate how to confront them head-on. If I want them to pursue their dreams, they need to see me chasing mine, despite the fears that try to hold me back.
Anxiety is rooted in fear—fear of failure, loss, and taking risks. So, fighting anxiety means embracing discomfort and pursuing my passions, no matter how daunting it may seem. Yes, it’s tough, and there are days when I struggle to leave the house. But for the sake of my children, I have to keep pushing myself.
Ultimately, I might still raise children who have fears of their own. I know I can’t shield them from every panic-inducing thought. But I can choose to respond to my anxiety by going against its messages. When anxiety says, “Don’t go on that trip,” I go. When it urges me to stay in bed all day, I head to the beach. If it warns me that someone might drown, I prepare by taking safety precautions and keeping a close eye on my kids.
If anxiety wants to play dirty, I can play too.
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In summary, facing anxiety is a continual battle, but it’s one worth fighting for the sake of our children. By showing them that we can take risks and embrace our passions, we help them grow into resilient individuals who can manage their own fears.