I have a friend who dated an incredible woman he met at a neighborhood welcome event for several months. He was a bit older than she, and they’d both been married before. Because he deals with quite a bit of anxiety, he gets easily overwhelmed when too many once-anchored things begin to float.
The relationship was going well until his work life got complicated. Every day, the situation grew more uncertain. His leaders—trying desperately to curb the numerous headwinds on a once stable business—were making terrible decisions. The employees, including my friend, didn’t feel they could count on much anymore. Morale was low. Belief was nonexistent. Every day felt like a psychological war zone.
This uncertainty was extremely challenging for him to manage. As his anxiety spiked, his tolerance for other uncertainties in his life—including the relatively new relationship—deteriorated. What will happen if my job situation comes apart? Will she see me the same way? Will she feel less secure? Emotionally burdened by the many plates he couldn’t stop from spinning, he ended the relationship. Then, to justify his fear-based decision, he began picking her apart. If she were wrong for him, the loss would hurt less. He would get over it faster. He could feel “right” in his choice to walk away. He thought this would make the tumult easier to manage. It didn’t. It just made him feel more alone in the fight.
I can’t even count all the times I’ve pretended not to want something because I thought I might not get it, or if I had it, that I’d lose it. What opportunities have I thrown away while trying to prevent disappointment? What relationships have I cut short for fear of rejection? How often have I robbed myself of true and expansive possibility?
As someone who struggles with anxiety, remaining in control often feels paramount—more important than winning or attaining or enjoying. Good or bad, I’m wired for security. People like me trade possibility for assurance every day:
I might not get selected, so I won’t apply. (Or I didn’t get selected, so I won’t try again.)
I might be late, so I won’t go. (Or I was late and missed it, and I won’t bother next time.)
I might not get a response, so I won’t reach out. (Or I didn’t get a response, so I won’t reach out anymore.)
I might get hurt, so I won’t emotionally invest. (Or I did get hurt, so I’ll stop emotionally investing.)
Have you ever eliminated your chance at happiness or success so you can remain in control? Just in case things don’t go your way? If so, this is your invitation to trust yourself.
Trust your ideas so much that when one road closes, you go a different route. Trust your purpose so much that you keep pursuing it when people tell you it’s impossible. Trust your heart so much that when love fades, you celebrate having experienced it. Trust yourself to recover when anything at all doesn’t go your way—to get up, dust yourself off, and keep pushing. A failure doesn’t make you a failure. A rejection doesn’t make you a reject. A loss doesn’t make you a loser.
It’s important that we recognize when fear is driving our decisions. Life is a numbers game. You win some, you lose some, and some are entirely redefined with each kink in your armor. At the end of the day, there’s no great reward without great risk. In this phase of my life, this is the motto I’ve committed myself to. And as I learn to flip my own paradigm—to trade assurance for possibility—the universe keeps showing me just how limitless life can be.
Join me?
Tara Jaye Frank