Better Than the FBI at Finding My Kids
A few years ago, my three adult children handed me a gift that made them laugh and made me pause: a coffee mug with the words, “Better Than an FBI Agent at Finding Her Children.”
One of them smirked and said, “Mom, you always know where we are, what we’re doing, and if we’ve eaten anything green.”
They weren’t wrong.
I spent years mastering the art of worrying—about their lives, their success, their happiness. Not because I didn’t trust them, but because I felt an overwhelming responsibility to make sure they were okay.
That they knew I loved them.
That they felt supported.
That they didn’t struggle alone.
For a long time, I believed worrying was proof of love. That if I thought through every possible scenario, I could somehow protect them, anticipate their needs, and ensure they never felt lost or alone.
But here’s the truth: Worrying never actually helped.
It didn’t prevent hardships.
It didn’t change outcomes.
It didn’t protect me from pain.
It only kept me trapped in a cycle of stress, exhausting myself over things I couldn’t control.
And then, one day, I let it go.
I realized that life will go the way it should whether or not I worry about it.
Worry didn’t prepare me. It only stole my peace.
And when I finally saw worry for what it was—just a habit, not the truth—I was free.
And you can be, too.