My anxiety has been running high lately, and I finally had a session (after, frustratingly, several re-schedulings) with my therapist. She urged me to think of why I feel these waves of panic, and I think I’ve finally come to some truths.
I think that I am scared, which is not comfortable for me. In so many areas, I’m afraid that “the best” years and times are behind me, without me realizing how good those things were at the time. I’m afraid that the best years–decade–of my career is past, with academia in such dire and uncertain straits currently. I’m afraid that the best years of my kids’ childhoods are gone, as they become more independent and are clearly no longer “little” kids. I’m afraid that all of these “best” times have passed me by, and I didn’t realize that I was in the midst of them when they actually happened. And now, I feel like I’m frantically trying to grasp the remains of those things, and I am scared of what comes next.