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The People Who Worry Quietly
I thought I understood how worry looked in my family
I have always been the overt over-thinker in our family. If there is a situation to dissect, I’m the one who walks through every possible outcome, making backup plans for the backup plans in a determined attempt to keep life’s unpredictability at bay. I always assumed this was simply what fear looked like in our house.
So, when I dealt with a health issue two summers ago — marked by a few hospital visits after an emergency surgery, that too under the heavy Chennai heat — I naturally assumed I knew exactly who would struggle most with the weight of the unknown.
Me.
What I didn’t expect was how easily you can miss the signs of panic in the person right beside you, even when you have known them for seventeen years.
Throughout the entire experience, my husband did what he always does in difficult situations. He focused on what needed to be done.
He drove me to appointments through chaotic city traffic, sat patiently in uncomfortable hospital waiting rooms, and listened carefully to every consultant we met. He didn’t spiral. He didn’t match my emotional volume. He appeared steady, and because I knew him so well, I took that steadiness at face value.
