Anxiously Waiting

This past weekend, I was presented with a new thought.

Growing up, I was taught to be on time. Actually—worse—I was taught to be five minutes early, because being “on time” was considered late. You can thank my military upbringing for that one. I’ve always made it a point to let people know when I’m on my way, if I’m running late, or if I can’t make it at all. Something in my conscience said it was the right thing to do.

But after a recent conversation, I started to dig a little deeper. Why did I feel the need to over-communicate every detail of my ETA? Why did I feel anxious if someone else didn’t do the same? I always thought it was simple courtesy, but maybe it was more than that.

Reading The 5 Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman gave me some insight. We often express love—or courtesy—the way we want to receive it. So for me, punctuality and communication were ways I showed respect and care, and I expected that same energy in return.

Over time, I’ve learned you can’t expect people to be just like you. Trust me, this lesson didn’t come easy. (I’m a recovering grammar stickler who used to love correcting people.) But I’ve come to realize that unsolicited help isn’t always welcome. People appreciate your support when they ask for it—not when it's pushed on them. And that applies to punctuality, too.

Recently, I found myself feeling tense when someone wasn’t on time. I got that familiar nervous flutter. But why? After sitting with the feeling, an old friend reappeared: abandonment. Yep. That deep-rooted fear of being left alone showed up again, just wearing a different outfit.

I've come a long way in healing from those issues, but every now and then, a trigger sneaks in—reminding me that healing isn’t always linear.

This reflection reminded me of something important: I am not my past. I am not my fear. I am here, in this moment. The present is what matters most. So I’ll keep learning, keep growing, and keep catching myself when the old demons try to whisper something untrue.

Because I am not who I was. I am who I choose to be—right now.