For my class on Addiction in grad school we were challenged to give something up for the duration of the quarter. Right below some of the usual suspects of coffee, alcohol, social media and other well-known and more socially acceptable forms of addiction, one caught my eye: worry.
As I mulled over the idea - the idea of worry-free for 3 months - I couldn’t help but think, Wasn't that what they called cheating??
Nonetheless I talked to my therapist about it and took the bait. And it's turning out to be a LOT harder than I expected.
Day 1 started off swimmingly. I slept in a bit to catch up from the long weekend: No worries. I don't start class until tomorrow. I can give myself some extra space to catch up. Indulged in an extra yoga class at lunch: No worrrrries. It's the beginning of the quarter. I don't have any assignments I need to get on top of yet. I have plennnnty of time to work the rest of the week.
It felt so freeing. I felt like Simba hakuna-matata-ing around, letting the things I'd normally stress about just roll off my shoulders. Why had I never adopted this attitude before?
Then 5 o'clock rolled around. Well, since I lost a couple hours during the day, maybe I'll work a little later tonight to make sure I stay on top of things. No worries, right? Just some worry-free, healthy, regular work. Just some guilt-ridden, overwhelming, need-to-do-more-to-prove-I'm-still-a-worthwhile-human-being, work-til-11pm-on-something-that-isn't-even-a-priority, work.
Or, as they might call it in the world of addiction: Relapse.
What the hell happened?
While an exploration of worry through the lens of addiction is by no means meant to imply that they are one in the same, nor to trivialize the severity of many addictions and substance use disorders, there are many parallels we can draw upon to help understand what goes on when we worry. And as my professor likes to say: Sometimes the most learning comes from the relapse.
When talking about addiction, one of the first questions we can ask when someone has an urge to or returns to an unwanted behavior is: What was it serving for you?
Oftentimes addictions function to fill the places we find voids, to avoid difficult tasks or emotions, and even to help us self-soothe. In my case, worrying and subsequently panic-working helped me avoid a fear of failure, or the ingrained idea that I'm not worthy if I'm not being productive. So, as my therapist pointed out: I “distracted myself by being on top of something that didn’t even matter.” Even the act of worrying itself can feel like you're "doing something" or "being productive." It becomes the brain's attempt to solve our problem, without actually taking action.
You can apply this to so many other forms of worrying: Worrying you'll die alone helps you avoid the potentially challenging feelings of being with yourself in that moment. Worrying you'll fail helps you avoid facing the insecurities you already have that you're not good enough. But the most ironic part is we end up living in those worries as if they've already happened. By constantly ruminating about them, we are living in the very realities we're trying to escape.
But here's the catch: While sometimes worrying can be so debilitating it leads to inaction, sometimes it's still the very motivating force we need to actually do something about our problems. Had I hakuna-matata'd the rest of my week away, at the rate I was going I may well not have gotten the work I needed to get done, done. If everyone practiced a totally worry-free attitude toward the pandemic right now, well, we all know how that'd turn out...
Does it mean that worry itself is necessary? Just like any addiction, worry is a habit that has become deeply reinforced over the course of our lives. It's become our brain's go-to coping mechanism, but that doesn't mean there aren't others that serve the same function or need we need met. For example, because I was so worry-free last week, I skipped my usual ritual of time blocking and making a to-do list for my week, and I learned quickly that I need that type of structure in order to allow me to worry less (it's the same paradox as the idea that boundaries allow you to have more freedom). Is there a way to take the excessive fear and emotion out of worrying and cultivate tools that solve the same problem in a healthier and more positive way?
“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.”
Corrie ten Boom
What does your worrying serve? What alternatives might take its place?
