I used to think that whenever my boyfriend was running late, he’d been hit by a car.
Well, not just him. All my loved ones, actually. If my parents’ flight had been delayed after a trip, I assumed it had crashed. If my sister wasn’t answering her phone, I thought she’d been abducted.
It happened so often, planning funerals in my mind became routine. I rehearsed eulogies as habitually as I’d plan an outfit for the next day. (Post continues after gallery.)
Like a lot of people, I didn’t do anything about it. Maybe it was silly, maybe it was just another part of the problem. Either way, I gradually accepted this was what my life would be like, and as best I could, learned to deal with my anxiety.
Watch Mia Freedman, Kate de Brito and Monique Bowley discuss the simple phrase to turn your anxiety on its head. (Post continues after video.)
Until one day, when the thoughts just…stopped.
At this point, I should say something. I am a vain person; some would even say narcissistic. And in the past, I’ve been told it’s a personal failing on my behalf. That obsessing over my looks is a waste of time (mine and other people’s).
But in this case, I disagree.
I credit my current state of good mental health to my vanity. Or, more specifically, my desire to have a Beyoncé butt.