No doubt about it, we live in worrying times. Being told that eating rashers might give us cancer and that we shouldn’t do the gas quizzes on Twitter because our data could be harvested and – no, lookit, I’m going to stop there. Even listing them is making my worry levels spike sharply, and probably yours too, and I don’t want to lose you, because we’re going to explore solutions.
Drinking heavily, that’s a time-honoured – if sadly, temporary – way to outrun one’s troubles but not perhaps the best solution if your immediate anxiety is that you’re en route to a vital job interview.
Worry beads? Big in the Middle East. But I fear the clacking noise might inflame my already overwrought nerves.
An answer came from an unexpected source – my seven-year-old nephew, Redzer the Younger. Loftily, he informed me that when he was young (aged six) he used to be scared, but now, nothing bothered him. When I inquired about the source of his new-found serenity (Xanax?) he produced a stuffed toy with a very wide, zipped mouth: a Worry Eater.
Worry Eaters signal to other worriers that I am of their tribe, which might lead to impromptu heart-to-hearts with strangers
The idea is that you write whatever ails you on a piece of paper, put it in the Worry Eater's capacious mouth, zip the mouth closed and the beast "eats" it. (In reality, the parent removes it when the nipper is asleep.)
Well! I was enchanted by this, and the Redzers promptly gifted me a Worry Eater of my own, a blue-and-white stripy beast, called Lilli. My beloved Lilli is never short of a bite, and the only difference between myself and Redzer the Younger is that I’m the one who removes the “note of fear”.
Pathetic though it sounds, it genuinely helps. Of course, I know that my worry isn’t “eaten”, but it plays into the whole thing human beings have, even the acutely non-religious of us, about “handing it over”. The sense that the universe has taken on board my fears and concerns is irrational yet comforting.
There’s a problem, though: a lot of my worrying is done outside the home, and Lilli is too big and too embarrassing to accompany me. However! I discovered mini Worry Eaters, which enable me to catastrophise on the go. They’re really cute and small enough to attach to my handbag, so they’re actual fashion statements.
Even better, they signal to other worriers that I am of their tribe, which might lead to impromptu heart-to-hearts with strangers. And as well all know, a problem shared is a problem halved.
