Jamie Stec
2 min readSep 13, 2021

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I want to make this a funny story but I’m not sure that I can.

I have never been more anxious than I am, today, at this moment in time.

Cancer made my anxiety unbearable. The pandemic has made it nearly murderous. My anxiety is going to kill me.

Or cancer will. Or Covid. Or a car accident. A dog bite. A financial emergency.

And something will inevitably kill my mom, who is older than she’s ever been, and hadn’t returned my calls or texts since a one word response in the morning.

I got everyone riled up. I let my anxiety be contagious. I’m turning into my dad, and all I want is my mommy.

I imagined terrible things on my drive over there. I told myself imagining these things makes it more of a relief if I find her to be fine. A small, rational voice in my brain whispered 'that is anxiety making things up’, and I pressed the accelerator in response.

What if she was in a car accident? What if I get in a car accident trying to get to her.

My mom was in her front yard when I arrived. A few pieces of topsoil on her shirt like crumbs. She had been transplanting hostas and day lilies. She had purchased a car load of boxwoods.

I sobbed into her arms and she said that it was nice to feel worried about. My immediate thought was 'this isn’t about you. I am not well.’

That is why I need to resume therapy. I’m playing at my little improvements, month by month, but what I absolutely must do is make the big improvement, and find a therapist. I’m putting it here to be accountable. I’m sharing this story because it makes me feel scared and ashamed, and because fear and shame are not welcome in my life.

I need therapy.

And maybe to cut back on the edibles?

There. I made it funny.

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