What’s the point of worry?

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It was years and years ago when I innocently walked out to my garden but instead of enjoying the sunshine, I was forced to back inside because, oh dear, there were 3 big frogs on the patio.

You’ve got to know that I consider myself pretty nature-friendly but there are two things that totally freak me out every time and that’s spiders and frogs. Even just typing about them makes me shiver.

So being back inside my mind started to set itself off.

What if they get in?

The bathroom has a ventilation tube through the wall, what if they find it? And push their disgusting, slimy body through the tiny holes somehow and end up in my bathtub?

What if they start hopping around the house when I sleep?

Oh my god, what if they jump on my face during the night???

That was the point when the unlikeliness overcame even the irrational fear. It can’t happen. Right? (If you know a story otherwise, please don’t tell me. I genuinely do not want to know it otherwise.)

But it never made that pit in my stomach go away. These scenarios kept coming back until my darling brave dogs hunted down those creatures. (They needed a little persuasion but I’m nothing if not persistent when it comes to going against frogs.)

And that’s where I noticed: even if any of those things actually did happen, I would never have spent as much time on solving the issue as I did worrying about it.

It sank in quickly: my worst nightmare is not as bad as my standard fear! How can that be? What’s the point of worrying then what do I gain from it?

I’m far from saying I’m worry-free. But every now and then I remember the frogs and make myself stop. And that’s a little victory, isn’t it?

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