Worrying Changes Nothing

But changing your mindset changes everything

Worrying

We spend so much of our lives worrying. Replaying what happened, what could have been, or what might still go wrong. I worried excessively when Kevin was struggling with his mental health. I worried myself sick, trying to anticipate outcomes and somehow protect him through my thoughts alone.

But the truth is, worry never changed a single thing. It only exhausted my heart.

The word worry comes from the Old English wyrgan, meaning “to strangle.” When we fixate on something in the past, we metaphorically grab our own histories by the throat, cutting off the flow of physical and emotional energy that keeps us fully alive. To restore that flow, we must look forward. Think about how we can apply what we’ve learned. Let loss or life-altering problems teach us to live meaningfully while grieving fully. Embracing those lessons loosens the grip of worry.

After Kevin was diagnosed with clinical depression and survived his first suicide attempt, I constantly lived in fear. I woke up every morning bracing myself for what might happen next—the next phone call, the next mood shift, the next crisis. My mind never found rest.

I believed that if I stayed alert enough, prayed hard enough, or somehow did everything “right,” I could keep him safe. That’s what worry does. It tricks us into thinking that control equals protection. It makes us feel responsible for outcomes we never had the power to decide.

Over time, something began to change. Maybe it was emotional exhaustion, or perhaps it was grace, but the slow realization that I could not outthink or outworry the brokenness of the world. My love for Kevin was infinite, but my control was not.

I still worry about my daughter. How could I not? Losing a child changes your perspective forever. But my faith now feels different. I’ve learned that just because tragedy isn’t present doesn’t mean God isn’t there, but His strength shown afterward proves it.

Worrying Doesn’t Help

No matter how much we worry, it never truly helps. The more we explore what worrying really is, the clearer it becomes that it sets us up for failure.

When we worry, we’re actually preparing ourselves to be upset because we assume something won’t work out in the future. This not only causes stress but can also foster negativity and lead to self-fulfilling outcomes.

While worrying is natural, it often masks deeper emotions—shame, fear, guilt, hurt, or anger are more challenging to face. If we don’t allow ourselves to feel and express these emotions healthily, they can cause ongoing distress. But when we genuinely feel them and bring them into the light, we begin to heal the roots rather than just the surface symptoms.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with feeling scared, angry, hurt, or even worried. These emotions —like love, gratitude, excitement, and joy —are part of being human. When expressed honestly, deeply felt emotions are empowering rather than destructive. They validate our experiences and make us feel understood.

Worry, then, becomes a signal. It’s a gentle reminder to pay attention to what’s happening inside us, be honest with ourselves, take better care of ourselves, and listen to what our emotions are trying to say.

Ask yourself, why am I truly worried? This simple act of self-reflection can bring a sense of control and understanding, making us feel more introspective and in tune with our emotions.

Psychologists have long studied the link between worry and our brain’s need for control. When life feels unpredictable, our minds grasp for certainty and run endless “what if” scenarios to prepare for what might come next.

Research from the American Psychological Association shows that chronic worry activates the amygdala, the brain’s fear center, keeping us in a constant state of alertness. For parents who have loss a child or nearly experienced such loss, hypervigilance becomes a way of life. You don’t just worry; you scan the world for signs of danger.

This constant vigilance takes a toll on the body, mind, and spirit. Studies show that chronic worry raises cortisol levels, disrupts sleep, and weakens the immune system.

That’s why faith and/or mindfulness practices rooted in presence and surrender are essential to healing. When we pray, meditate, or take one conscious breath, we interrupt the worry loop. We remind the body that we are safe in this moment.

A study from Harvard Medical School found that faith-based practices, like prayer or repeating a comforting scripture, activate the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for calm, hope, and emotional regulation. In other words, faith doesn’t just comfort us; it rewires the brain for peace.

Worry says, “I must control.”
Faith whispers, “I can trust.”And neuroscience confirms what the heart has always known: surrender isn’t weakness. It’s healing.

Living with Worry

Even now, worry still visits me. Yesterday morning, my husband had to make an emergency trip to New York City. When I checked that his flight had landed but hadn’t heard from him, I felt worry creeping in. But I reminded myself it wouldn’t help anything.

Worry still shows up when I don’t hear from my daughter right away or when my mind drifts to what-if thoughts. But now, I see it for what it is: love, trying to find its footing in an unpredictable world.

I remind myself that I can love deeply without carrying the burden of control. I can care without falling apart from fear. That’s the ongoing practice of not eliminating worry, but transforming it into awareness, prayer, and presence. For instance, when worry creeps in, I take a moment to acknowledge it, offer a prayer for the situation, and bring my focus back to the present moment.

Grief revealed how fragile life is. Faith reminded me that I was never meant to bear it all. Somewhere between these two truths, peace begins to take shape. Not perfect peace, but enough to get through the day.

So I still pray for my daughter’s safety, for my own strength, and for every parent caught between love and fear. But I also trust that the same God who holds my worries also holds my children.

If this message spoke to your heart, share it with someone who might need peace today. You’re not alone in learning to trust, release, and heal. Let’s keep walking this road together — one day, one breath, one prayer at a time. Let’s support each other on this journey.