The Top 3 Things I'm Worried About Today and the 11 Ways I Cope

How about you?

Every so often, I get into a funk that even Zoloft can’t fix. It’s always temporary. I know its tendencies — how it sneaks in suddenly, typically invited by a certain event that catches me off guard, and then lingers too long, until the lights have turned back on and the party plates are in the sink.

And then, somehow, just like that, it lifts, the pressure back off my chest, the heaviness gone without any evidence of its having been there.

But before it does, in those middle moments, it sets my life into a tailspin. I don’t want to do anything. Nothing can totally destroy it. Talking doesn’t help. Everywhere I sit feels wrong. Time just hangs. I’m uncomfortable in my skin, which decides to fluctuate in temperature. It’s really anxiety that morphs into this sadness.

Here are the top three things I’m worried about today. But really, I could’ve picked a zillion others.

1. Is my kid okay? One of my kids left for sleepaway camp yesterday. I mean, isn’t the whole no-communication thing a bit archaic in an age where we typically text each other 57 times a day? Three phone calls a summer as if they’re in prison? Seriously, what the heck!? It would relieve all of our anxiety — parents and kids — if we could just simply be in touch. The distance away, even the time away, would be totally manageable. It’s the lack of access that stings. I know that camps do this to help with homesickness, but I think it actually creates a bigger problem. Just have them call when they arrive! Have them check in daily if they want! Have them say goodnight! Who cares!? Then they can run free without any issues the rest of the time. Or how about this: decide family by family. Maybe that communication blackout works for some, but not all! And let me tell you: it does not work for me. Not being able to reach a child sets off a primal fear hard-coded in every parent. It begs the question: why do so many of us pay for this torture? For our kids! So they can grow and thrive and become more independent! And yet, I wouldn’t be crying every two seconds if I just could hear my kid’s voice and not feel like an artificial gate — in the form of a New Zealand-based, teenage counselor — has locked me out. And yes, I know: I’m ridiculously lucky to even be able to send my child to sleepaway camp. Truly grateful. (If you’re rolling your eyes at me, maybe my Substack isn’t your cup of tea?)

2. The fact that nowhere in the world feels safe. There’s crime, violence, and natural disasters seemingly everywhere. So where is it safe to… be? Honestly, I might have to get off Instagram for a bit or just “post and run.” My feed is all horror stories. In fact, my feed mostly feeds my anxiety. Why doesn’t it show me bulldog puppies like it does everyone else!? Mine is all images of beautiful children who have tragically passed away or surveillance videos of crimes or bombing alerts or photos of victims of other horrific things — with some book posts thrown in. I may need to reset my algorithm. (Will Google how to do that next.) The neighborhood ice cream shop Rori’s Creamery, three blocks away from my bookstore on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica, was recently robbed, windows smashed. I’d hoped Montana would be immune. It’s such a cute stretch of shops and restaurants! Come on! Nope. Nowhere is immune. I mean, our entire neighborhood in the Palisades out there literally burned down. So why do I keep thinking L.A. is safer than N.Y.? I’m evaluating a zillion places. I even contacted a Zillow broker in Iowa. Where is safe? And, in a world that isn’t, how do we all keep on keeping on?

3. Antisemitic trolls, even though I shouldn’t give them any mind space. I had a very mean person tear me to shreds recently in a particularly vicious way, including a post-by-post mockery of everything I’ve done and said — just because I’m Jewish and support the right of Israel to exist. I’m still reeling from this attack, even though I know I should “just ignore it” like everything else. But it was so hateful and so personal. It happened months ago, and yet I’m still now cautious about everything I do and say, his mocking voice in my head as a response to everything. (And boy would he have a field day with this post.) I’m so tired of watching my every step so carefully. How can people really connect without authenticity? I’ve been sharing my emotions openly since I was fourteen years old writing for Seventeen magazine. Now at age 48 I’m supposed to change my tune because my view of the world — which seemed so completely obvious — is actually now some sort of a political statement? Nothing makes sense anymore. Author friends continue to strike out at me in various ways, most recently one who did so with what she called “love.” Every day, more celebrities speak against us. “Another one bites the dust…” is my anthem. What next? By the way, thank you to Unpacked Media for this episode with me on Wondering Jews on building Jewish community in an age of cancel culture. And thanks to Jew-ish for also having me on to discuss.

But there’s hope.

Here are 11 ways I’ve found to handle my fears.

1. Music. I remember during my third c-section (10+ years ago), I had my playlist going in the OR and was like, “Why didn’t I do this before?” Playing music calms me down and helps my system regulate. Yesterday I listened to the whole “How to Train Your Dragon” soundtrack. Don’t judge. It helped.

   

2. Deep breaths. Ah, the old standby. But as I’m taking deep breaths, I’m trying to unclench my body, releasing the stress I didn’t know I was physically holding, starting with my shoulders.

3. Reading. I’ve read three books in the last couple days. Awake: A Memoir by Jen Hatmaker and Heart the Lover: A Novel by Lily King, which might be two of my favorite books of all-time, plus She’s Under Here: A Memoir by Karen Palmer. I keep my head down and in a book whenever possible. (Podcasts coming soon.)

   

4. Spending time with my other kids. I’m totally smothering them. I admit it.

5. Writing. See: this as evidence.

6. Making travel plans. Then debating changing them. (I don’t know. I’m weird.)

7. Doing cognitive behavioral exercises on myself with worksheets I download like this one. I try to replace my thoughts which then affect my emotions. For example, pick a situation, like: My kid goes to sleepaway camp. My thought: My child is miserable! My emotion: Terror, sadness, anxiety. My behavior: Frantically contacting counselors, refreshing apps, crying, texting friends. OR, same situation: My kid goes to sleepaway camp. My thought: My child is thriving! My emotion: Happiness, peace. My behavior: Back to normal! So, I try to plot triggers out and change the thoughts that influence my emotions and behaviors. It works. (I do this with my kids, too.)

   

8. Work. Throwing myself into my work every day helps take my mind off things. Picking books for my podcast. Editing copy. Interviewing authors. Planning events. Posting. All of it.

   

9. Social plans. Planning something to look forward to with friends, even just one lunch.

10. Gratitude and nature noticing. Being grateful for the birds chirping, the flowers blooming, my dog curled up by my feet, the beauty of the sky and trees, the field of lavender I drove by, the feel of sand between my toes, the echoes of the ocean crashing on the shore. The sound of sprinklers. A light breeze on a warm day. Ripples.

    

11. Chocolate in any form. Hot, dark, chips, sorbet, cake, anything. I’m in.

Okay, actually writing this helped. Thank you for “listening.”

I hope it helped someone out there to read it, too. And if you know people worrying about things (who isn’t?!!?), forward this along. It’ll make me feel good, if nothing else.

So, what are you worried about? What helps you get through? I’d love to hear any thoughts.