"I hate that I'm a 'worrier' but beware the person who tells you they 'don't care'."


I’m a worrier. I’ve never really liked that about myself. It feels like a weakness.

An ugly word stronger people somehow avoid.

When I met my husband I was instantly intrigued by three words he often spoke.

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My husband was ‘the non-worrier.’

The antithesis of the very thing I disliked about myself. To say it was attractive would be an understatement.

I marvelled at his ability to simply not care. It sounded like pure bliss. An emotional euphoria I could only dream of experiencing.

I would never be anything like this.

So the next best thing would be to latch onto this detached Goliath.

And each time he spoke, I was more certain of it.

“I don’t care,” he would say.

And the more he said those three words, the sexier he became.

Really? Is it even possible to not care? How does one not care? Teach me. Please!

And while I could not be taught, he did ‘free’ me from time to time. By adding a fourth word that allowed a worrier a short reprieve.


“Why do you care?” he would say.

Again, this indifference only made Goliath appear more rugged. Even stronger than before. I would have placed him on a pedestal if I hadn’t already made him so grandiose.

I know what you’re thinking.

It’s hard to understand how I found his chill poker face so appealing. But I think the other world worriers will agree it feels steady and stable next to our fear. Almost like it grounds us.

But what’s that they say?

What attracts you most to a person will likely be one of the things which ultimately becomes the least attractive? The seemingly ‘laid back’ spouse that now appears unmotivated. The ‘in charge’ significant other who is actually controlling.

Or my “indifferent Goliath” who was increasingly proving to be an extremely difficult personality.

I had misinterpreted those three little words.

When he said, “I don’t care.” He really didn’t care. It wasn’t that he had escaped the worrying gene. It wasn’t that he was strong. It wasn’t that he was emotionally tough.

It was that he lacked emotion.

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He simply didn’t care about others or what they thought. The spoiled and selfish child who wants what they want and little else matters.


Here’s the really bad news. At least for me.

He didn’t even care what I thought. Not once. Not ever. Try as I may to reach him.

I hadn’t married someone who would balance me, I had married someone who would tip me over. An alarming opposite.

The world is not black and white. Everyone utters those three words. At least from time to time…and they can even be healthy. However, if they are standard vocabulary they speak something I could never have understood at a young age.

They are the language of a very difficult personality.

A person who believes they don’t have to follow the rules because they have their own.

It’s nearly impossible to make a relationship work unless both people care. And even harder to make a relationship work with some personalities.

Certainly, we can’t care what everyone thinks. It would be debilitating.

But we should care what those we love and respect think.

There should be someone in our life we love enough (I gotta say it) to worry about.

These days I’m cool with being a worrier. It’s a part of me. And it accounts for a few things I do like.

I’m an undeniably, “I do care,” kinda girl.

Somehow that just doesn’t sound as ugly.

This post originally appeared on Medium and has been republished here with full permission. For more from Colleen Sheehy Orme, you can find her on Instagram and Facebook.