My GAD is acting up

It's that gnawing, anxious sensation, just below the surface of emotion.  That feeling like something terrible is about to happen, or I've done something, somehow, that I need to make right---but I have no idea what.  It's a feeling of dread. It's not something I can tell people is going on, because it almost like it's imaginary, or not linked to reality.  When I try to tell my husband it's happening, I get the rolling of the eyes or on a good day I get his best stab at encouragement. He's used to hearing the phrase, "if I should die in the night, " or "do you think someone at the Del Taco could have poisoned us?"
  When I was a kid, I remember telling my dad about it and explaining how I just had this awful feeling about something bad, and like any good Catholic father, he told me it was my guilty conscience and I probably did something wrong.  In high school when I medicated myself with cannabis, I remember looking out my window thinking that the world would end at any minute.  And I felt very alone.
I'm not alone anymore, in fact I'm surrounded by people all of the time, people who want and need things from me, which makes the GAD act up.  I also have lots of commitments, ones I made when I felt fine, but now they make me want to crawl in bed.  And that is one thing that eases it for a while.  A good nap and a do-over.  I think my GAD is hormonally driven, so I guess as long as I'm still a girl I'll be battling this on some level.  One of my biggest fears is that my daughters will/have inherited this, and sometimes I see shadows.
So here's my "mantra":  "Do not be anxious about anything.   But in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God, .  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Phil 4:6.

Third Time's a Charm

I learned a great lesson from my baby this morning.  He's hit that great phase where rifling through drawers brings hours of entertainment.  I figure it's worth it to allow him to explore the bathroom drawer (with all safe contents, people) while I take a long-deserved and necessary shower.  After a few rounds of "coucou" through the glass, he set about the business of opening the drawer and playing with the 10 containers of dental floss (ask Hubs about this one) and multi-pack of tooth brushes.  He successfully opened the drawer, then moments later shut it on his precious, chubby baby finger.  Not a lot of crying, but a look of distress, before he managed to pull his finger out.  Immediately, he set about trying to shut his finger in the door again.  Seriously? I tried talking him through it, then  sort of chuckled to myself, wondering how many times he would do this before he figured out where he shouldn't be putting his fingers while playing with the door.  The third time it was a little harder for him to dislodge his finger, and then after that I noticed he didn't do it again.  Hmmm, so maybe there is something to the saying "The third time is a charm".  Are we wired by the Great Creator  to need a little finger slamming to get the picture?  What have I been slamming my fingers in lately?  What have you been slamming your fingers in lately?