worry
since i have already revealed more about myself to this public forum than my own mother is aware of, i guess i may as well just keep going. today i would like to revisit the days and nights of worry i experienced as a child. i would like to talk about worry and checking behavior, and if it's all the same to my 18 unique readers, according to the counter i installed yesterday, i would also like to mislead others into the presumption that i am talking solely of past behavior. and for the most part i am. the kind of normal "did i turn the coffee pot off?" and "why the hell would i leave the house with the dryer running?" anxiety is nothing compared to the mind plagues of my life as a little girl.
by the age of 7, after completing too many rounds of standardized testing it had been firmly established that my intellectual capacities were suitable, and my gross attention to detail ensured that precision in academic achievement should not be a problem. but i attended viking elementary school from 1980-1987 with one thing on my mind. what the hell am i going to do when i fail a grade. it wasn't even called being "held back" then. not even the neutral "repeating". my anxiety came from an absolute knowledge that i would fail a grade eventually and what would i do then? it was just a matter of time. in grade 2, i did not earn any grade lower than the little kid equivalent of A's. in grades 3 and 4 i earned a total of 3 B's, otherwise A's. but i would lie in my bed at night, my brain refusing sleep because i had to worry. i wasn't even working out solutions or precautions, just worry. what will my mom say? my dad will be so mad! mike will make fun of me. all of my friends will
know that i am supposed to be in a higher grade because they all live on my street and we have always been in school together. i am a miserable failure and no one can help me. tears. millions and millions of tears shed over the inevitable failure that was my academic life. (i just had an epiphany. in a later submission, perhaps i will attempt to tread the gloomy stagnant waters of my current academic phobias and discuss the obvious self-fulfilling prophecy, revealed 20 years later than expected). i remember so clearly the night that my incessant worry climaxed into what was surely the most troubling concern for me in my limited life experience. if i failed second grade in regular school what happens at Sunday school? would i go on as if they are two separate entities entirely? or would the sunday school director recognize the confusion in being in 2nd grade elementary school, but 3rd grade sunday school? can you fail sunday school? it seemed like you couldn't. but how was i going to deal with the shame of being the first child to present the problem to the sunday school department at calvary lutheran church. i lost sleep over this question for years. i worried about it until my brain became convinced not just of the looming possibility, but that the day had arrived and i had to register for a sunday school class. i could hear the whispers. the stammering voices of the church mothers who only showed up to volunteer on sunday school sign up day in the fellowship hall because it gives them a better edge on the race to heaven and they have a nice new skirt suit from casual corner to display for the other mothers. how do we sign up the dumb girl? if she can't handle second grade she is obviously not ready for the mental damage of our third grade religious imagery. or would it go like this: well, she did finish all of the second grade lessons last year, we can't make her do the same book over again. i couldn't decide which would be worse, i just knew that one or the other scenario was at my metaphorical doorstep.
this was the kind of thing that kept my pillowcases stained with tears for all of the years of my childhood. no one knew this, and during the day i was quite the happy little camper, full of energy and love and fun.
i remember my mom telling me at a very young age that "everything seems a lot worse at night, it will be better in the morning." no truer words have ever been spoken to me. these days i keep a stock pile of sominex on hand. rarely do i have to use it, but it makes me feel more comfortable knowing that it's there should the worries ever set in. take two of these and rest, dear, it will be better in the morning.
by the age of 7, after completing too many rounds of standardized testing it had been firmly established that my intellectual capacities were suitable, and my gross attention to detail ensured that precision in academic achievement should not be a problem. but i attended viking elementary school from 1980-1987 with one thing on my mind. what the hell am i going to do when i fail a grade. it wasn't even called being "held back" then. not even the neutral "repeating". my anxiety came from an absolute knowledge that i would fail a grade eventually and what would i do then? it was just a matter of time. in grade 2, i did not earn any grade lower than the little kid equivalent of A's. in grades 3 and 4 i earned a total of 3 B's, otherwise A's. but i would lie in my bed at night, my brain refusing sleep because i had to worry. i wasn't even working out solutions or precautions, just worry. what will my mom say? my dad will be so mad! mike will make fun of me. all of my friends will
know that i am supposed to be in a higher grade because they all live on my street and we have always been in school together. i am a miserable failure and no one can help me. tears. millions and millions of tears shed over the inevitable failure that was my academic life. (i just had an epiphany. in a later submission, perhaps i will attempt to tread the gloomy stagnant waters of my current academic phobias and discuss the obvious self-fulfilling prophecy, revealed 20 years later than expected). i remember so clearly the night that my incessant worry climaxed into what was surely the most troubling concern for me in my limited life experience. if i failed second grade in regular school what happens at Sunday school? would i go on as if they are two separate entities entirely? or would the sunday school director recognize the confusion in being in 2nd grade elementary school, but 3rd grade sunday school? can you fail sunday school? it seemed like you couldn't. but how was i going to deal with the shame of being the first child to present the problem to the sunday school department at calvary lutheran church. i lost sleep over this question for years. i worried about it until my brain became convinced not just of the looming possibility, but that the day had arrived and i had to register for a sunday school class. i could hear the whispers. the stammering voices of the church mothers who only showed up to volunteer on sunday school sign up day in the fellowship hall because it gives them a better edge on the race to heaven and they have a nice new skirt suit from casual corner to display for the other mothers. how do we sign up the dumb girl? if she can't handle second grade she is obviously not ready for the mental damage of our third grade religious imagery. or would it go like this: well, she did finish all of the second grade lessons last year, we can't make her do the same book over again. i couldn't decide which would be worse, i just knew that one or the other scenario was at my metaphorical doorstep.this was the kind of thing that kept my pillowcases stained with tears for all of the years of my childhood. no one knew this, and during the day i was quite the happy little camper, full of energy and love and fun.
i remember my mom telling me at a very young age that "everything seems a lot worse at night, it will be better in the morning." no truer words have ever been spoken to me. these days i keep a stock pile of sominex on hand. rarely do i have to use it, but it makes me feel more comfortable knowing that it's there should the worries ever set in. take two of these and rest, dear, it will be better in the morning.
posted by shelly at 11/03/2005 10:49:00 AM
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