Scheduling Your Worries A Surprising Solution

It’s like a low hum in the background, always. Not loud enough to be actively disruptive, but persistently *there*. A thread of thought, a question mark hovering just behind your eyes, pulling you away from whatever you’re trying to do. For me, it used to be about National, honestly. After the show, I’d be sitting in English class, trying to focus on Shakespeare, and I’d be thinking, “Did anyone else there like my jacket? Did anyone hear me singing along? Did anyone *notice*?”

It wasn’t exactly crippling. It wasn't like I couldn't function. But it was…a weight. A constant redirection of energy. My mom, bless her heart, would ask, “Are you okay? You seem distracted.” I’d say, “Yeah, fine,” because what else could you say? How do you explain that you’re just…worrying? About things you can’t change, things that probably won’t even happen?

And it's not just the band stuff anymore. It's everything. The blog – the constant low-level anxiety about whether I’m writing enough, whether anyone’s reading, whether I’m embarrassing myself. My dad’s comments on the blog, or lack thereof. School, college applications, figuring out what I’m even *doing* after graduation. It’s a relentless cycle of what-ifs, a tangled knot in my chest.

I used to just push it down. Try to “think about other things.” Which, of course, never really worked. It just made the worrying feel…stuck. Like a pressure building up. Dad used to say, “Just stop worrying,” which is helpful advice, obviously. I’d get that look, you know? The one where they're trying to be understanding, but they're also subtly implying you’re being dramatic.

Then, a few months ago, I read something—I can’t even remember where—about setting aside a specific time to worry. *Scheduling* it. It sounded ridiculous. Like deliberately adding more stress to an already stressful life. But I was desperate. I was so, so tired of feeling like I was constantly on edge. So, I decided to try it.

It's really simple. Fifteen minutes, every afternoon. I set a timer on my phone. During that time, I let myself think about whatever anxieties are bubbling up. All of them. The blog’s future. College. Whether I’m actually any good at writing. The fact that I still haven’t figured out what I want to major in. I just…let it all out.

The surprising thing is, it’s actually gotten quieter. The low hum hasn't disappeared entirely, but it’s less insistent. When a worry pops up outside of my scheduled fifteen minutes, I gently redirect it. “That’s for worry time,” I tell myself. “We’ll deal with it then.” It’s not a magic fix, of course. Some days are harder than others. But it's given me a little bit of space. A little bit of control.

It's strange, almost counterintuitive, to intentionally make room for anxiety. But sometimes, the best way to deal with something is to acknowledge it, to give it its due, and then let it go. Maybe, just maybe, this small shift in my routine is helping me find a little more…peace. Even in a small town in Ohio, with a skeptical dad and a blog that feels like a secret world, a little peace feels like a victory.