Anxious.

I have lost count of how many times I have come here to write.  Sometimes I log on and delete all the old drafts sitting in un-published status.  Some I've just...left.  I get a few paragraphs out...or sometimes a novel's worth out...and...I lose the desire to keep writing.  Or I realize it's all pointless blather. I get sick of myself, writing about myself.

That's honesty, right there.

Today, though, I had a 'whoa' moment.  I want to write about it, because...well...it is rare that I don't understand myself.  And about this, I have no understanding.

Last January (2016), I started getting my nails done.  I have never had good nails - they're brittle and split easily, and the nail on each of my pointer fingers curls as soon as it grows even 1/8" past the tip of my finger.  It is frustrating.  I use my hands a lot - I talk with them, I hammer words out on the computer all the time at work, I rarely wear gloves when I do housework (which is hard on the nails).  My hands are mostly ugly.  Having weight loss surgery exacerbated that, despite vitamins and supplements (which I have actually been bad about taking for the last several months).

Also, my husband LIKES when I have longer nails, so for both of us, I spent the year going in every 2-3 weeks to have acryllic nails and shellac applied.

Ok - back to the entire reason I am writing.  As I sat there are the salon, trying something new this time (the acryllic dip instead of standard acryllic nails), I realized I was SO STRESSED OUT sitting there.  My back and shoulders ached as I sat there, and the woman doing my nails kept having to ask me to relax my fingers, because she couldn't bend them the ways she needed to for the sanding and everything.

This request from the nail tech is not new for me.  I have had them ask on SEVERAL occasions that I relax - including when they're doing my pedicure.  How does one tense up their toes to the point that the pedicure is difficult?  I don't know - but apparently I am a pro at it.

I had NO REASON to be stressed today.  I mean - sure - things are never PERFECT - but there are no pressing emergencies.  There was no REASON for me to be sitting there uber tense and anxious.  And yet...I was.  I am.  I will be.  This is my "norm".  That knot growing harder and harder in my shoulder?  That's my life.  And today I sat there and just thought...WHY?  Why do I feel this way?  Like I'm a bug and the giant shoe of life is about to end mine.  Why can't I sit in a salon full of women getting beautified and relaxed, and relax MYSELF?  Why, when I get a massage, do I stress about why I am not relaxing?  (I am NOT EVEN KIDDING.)

My husband likes to say it's my mom echoing in my head...but it's beyond that.  I came to the realization today that not only is this not a HEALTHY thing, it's something that I need to deal with.  I thought for a long time that it was "worry".  And I've been challenged in my faith that I shouldn't worry if I trust in God.  But it isn't really so much worry...it's anxiety.  I've had so many years of one problem after another that expecting the next awful thing is my daily survival mode.

I don't know how to shake it.  Maybe just having an awareness of it is all I need.  I don't feel like therapy is the key...it's not like I'm sitting here holding some deep dark secret that will resolve my anxiety by telling someone or talking about it.  Honestly - the idea of going into therapy again (which we DO have to do for one of our kids) is thoroughly exhausting.  The idea of having to relive all the past may years' events for another therapist...it just makes me want to throw my hands up (not in a "they're playin' my song" way....

I don't know.

But I know it has to change.

My shoulders are going to turn into actual granite if I don't figure it out.