My husband is a keen cyclist, and went out last night on his regular club ride.
They usually go to the pub afterwards and enjoy “a couple of beers”, but we drank a bit over the weekend, what with the beautiful sunshine and Mother’s Day, so he told me in no uncertain terms on Sunday night that no alcohol would pass his lips this week.
So when the time he was due back came and went, the anxious thoughts started to creep in. All the “what ifs” started to ravenously emerge from their caves.
It didn’t help that I was already feeling sensitive – our eldest sobbed his heart out at bedtime because he wanted Daddy, and our youngest has yet again declared war on sleep. It also didn’t help that husband never lets me know where he is, as part of his “if I don’t admit I was at the pub, I was never there” action plan.
My logical brain knew that he’d gone straight to the pub and abandoned his willpower like a rat leaping from a sinking ship, but anxiety and intrusive thoughts don’t live in the logical brain. They live in the shadows and the sound of them echoes loudly around every corner. They plant seeds of doubt and litter the mind with images of car crashes, road rage attacks and Lycra-clad temptresses.
He will probably be cross when he reads this, but he shouldn’t be. It’s about love more than anything else. Love is a gift, but comes at a price for people with bad anxiety. The joy of having something wonderful, always accompanied by the acute fear that you will lose it. Happiness tainted by lying awake in bed at night worrying about situations that haven’t happened, being upset over things that haven’t been said.
So next time darling, just send me a selfie from the bar. 😘