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You’re Too Sensitive – You Worry Too Much…

Every single time I see mom or talk to her on the phone – that phrase is uttered at least once, if not may times throughout the visit or call.  It is usually accompanied by words of *advice* that have been repeated every single time.  You need to relax.  Take things as they come.  Roll with the punches.  Worrying won’t a difference.  I don’t know why you can’t just relax, I wish you could get over this.  You can’t worry about everything.  And a million or two other versions of the same.   I just wish she could accept that is who I am, that it is a combination of my genetic makeup, and my life experiences.  Neither of which I can change, and I wish mom could accept that, but I also never expect her too.  She is who she is – just like – I am who I am.

I am too sensitive and worry too much – but I can’t change a core part of what makes me – me.  Sometimes my worry is front and center, and other times it is subconscious – both forms take their toll.  My friends get it and accept it.  It didn’t take long for my closest colleagues at work to learn that I stressed over everything but they accepted it as part of who I was.  That for me, my work needed to be perfect and any mistake made by my team or I was unacceptable, so I built-in controls into every facet so that the risk of a mistake was minimal.  Being able to control it – reduced my stress about it.  That was my only solution.  I was a pro at risk assessment…

Worrying is unhealthy, but I don’t have a magic way to fix it.  I have read books on it.  I have tried to consciously block things out of my mind.  I have tried, and tried, and tried.  The only method that works is control of the situation and outcome, and yet there are still things I cannot control.  Those things I stress over, either by putting them off, or waiting anxiously for the outcome to be known.  I can face known – that is the easy part.  What I can’t face is not knowing and someone else being in control of when I get to know the outcome.

I have been this way since I arrived home.  I think at it’s core it is about separation from my mother, and then from whoever, or however many whoever’s cared for me the first two and a half months of my life.  My transition home was horrible according to mom – when I was awake, I cried inconsolably for well over 6 months, nothing she tried worked for more than a minute or two.  Nothing was physically wrong with me.  I was just inconsolable – except with dad.  I attached to dad, but I don’t think I ever really attached to mom.  I don’t know that she could have done anything different from what she did, I just didn’t attach to her.  She will always be mom, but not in the same way as dad.  Mom and I don’t fit.  I don’t know why, but suspect it is a combination of being nothing alike, and a babies instinctual distrust of mothers/caregivers not being there anymore learned by reality.

Yet I don’t have separation anxiety and never have…it doesn’t bother me when someone leaves.  How messed up is that.

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Posted by on September 3, 2012 in Adoption, adoptive parents, biological child

 

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