Worrier to Warrior
I woke up to my alarm. The day started out like any other. The sun was out, the birds were singing, and I was gifted another gorgeous day. I should have felt the expanse of possibility and felt as though I was on top of the world, but I didn’t. I woke up and immediately felt dread and began to worry. Instead of feeling like I was on top of the world, I felt like I was under it, like a stand whose sole responsibility was holding it up.
The weight of what was going on in my world and the world’s problems made it impossible to move, let alone get out of bed. I lay there reminding myself of all the things that felt so heavy—the unrelenting pace of our lives set by our children’s activities, our work, David’s intense travel schedule, the never-ending and growing to-do lists to upkeep the house, the bills from the holidays, the vet, the plumbing issues, the effort put forth trying to get parenting just right, not to mention the endless stream of decision-making that goes with all of the above listed. As the list in my head went on and on, I paused. I couldn’t tell if the complaining was soothing me or making it worse.
And then I heard the words, “Worrier to Warrior,” and I was jolted and reminded…
In the past, I wasn’t able to see that there was a choice to make when worrying. The worry just sort of happened, like a starting gun. I would wake up, punch the clock, and start to worry. At the end of the day, I would clock out, but I’d bring the worry home with me until it was time to go to sleep. Sometimes the perfectionist side of me would drive me to continue to worry through the night, dedicating even more time to a job that didn’t pay or even reward me. I never learned anything new, and most startling, nothing ever changed from worrying. Ever.
I knew I needed to get rid of my unpaid side hustle of worrying when I started to notice how I felt. The worrying was tiring and energy draining. It kept me in a constant state of gloom. I began to fantasize what it would be like to remove all of the things that caused me to worry, but it dawned on me. It didn’t matter what I removed, I would always be the source and the starting gun of the worrying.
I recognized that it was up to me to make the choice whether I wanted to worry or not, and when I realized that I didn’t have to worry if I didn’t want to, I felt better. I felt a bit lighter but I also felt a bit more confused. How do you just stop worrying?
Worrier to Warrior. The warrior steps out. The worrier bends.
That’s the choice. You don’t have to just stop worrying and sit in nothingness. You can choose to be a warrior. Whatever kind you want to be. A powerful warrior? A peaceful one? A princess? A spirit warrior?
Next time you find yourself in worry mode, visualize yourself as some kind of warrior, ready to dissolve old patterns of worrying-whether things feel like a mess or they are going perfectly and you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Take a few deep breaths and see yourself handling anything that comes your way with ease and grace. Picture yourself as a leader who solely relies on their own inner wisdom and trust that you can handle any situation. Take a few more deep breaths and feel both powerful and peaceful at the same time.
These days, my inner worrier still makes an occasional appearance, but I welcome them, knowing they're simply doing what they know best. I remind myself that I want to be a warrior, not a worrier. And not the kind of warrior that battles and conquers, but one that is peaceful, knowing, and courageous. I want to be a warrior who holds no weapons, only wisdom—the wisdom that understands fighting and struggling only bring more of the same.
When I embrace my inner warrior, I not only conquer the external environment but also quiet the internal noise that weighs me down. By finding the balance between strength and calm, I can face each day with purpose and peace, knowing that this is the true path to lasting joy and fulfillment.
Hi, I’m Sara Rose.
Explore my blog to uncover the extraordinary transformations hidden in everyday moments.
