If You Only Knew

The other day, a colleague told me, "You worry too much!"

I laughed, because I thought, "If you only knew!"

The other day my sitter gave my kids fat circles of carrots for a snack, and when I walked in and saw them I had the sense of needing to swoop in, rescue them, conquer those evil carrots, protect my babies like they were about to fall off cliffs, and I recognized my overreaction with both a laugh and some concern. (Then, of course, I diced the carrots finely and let my sitter know to always do the same.)

Yesterday I had a very minor traffic accident. No one was hurt, the rate of speed was very slow, and you would have to carefully scrutinize my license plate to even find a clue anything had happened. Today, I drove like I am 200 years old, and every single shadow on the freeway caused me to slow down, check my mirrors, sit up straighter. I laughed at my over-cautiousness, but stayed in the right lane all day.

Partly, I was born this way.

Partly, I have some autism PTSD. I worry about everything because I am worried that I didn't worry about some of the things that I should have worried about regarding my son and autism.  I worry because when I worry sometimes - voila - some of the things I worried about don't happen, maybe because I have learned to worry about them, so I want to be worry vigilant. I worry because there is so much press about all the things you have to worry about if your child has autism. I worry because it's easier to worry about carrots and cars than a child's autism -- his social isolation, multiple learning disabilities, health concerns, expensive therapies, and future prospects -- by a long shot. Worry has become a habit, a mantra, and a way of life, and I worry about the worry. That's probably what worries me most.