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Maria Messer's avatar

Amy, this is beautiful. I felt seen in so many parts of your story. Thank you for putting words to something that so many caregivers experience but rarely know how to explain.

I feel this in my bones.

Hypervigilance has a way of disguising itself as responsibility. It tells us we’re being prepared, vigilant, good caregivers. It convinces us that if we just think one step further ahead, anticipate one more problem, or prepare for every possible outcome, we can somehow protect the people we love.

But eventually, I realized something painful: I wasn’t just preparing for emergencies anymore. I was preparing for life.

Even when things were calm, my body wasn’t.

I’ve had to learn that hypervigilance isn’t a personality trait—it’s often a nervous system that has spent too long believing it has to stay on guard. And when you’ve lived through enough crises, that response makes perfect sense. Our brains are trying to keep us safe by assuming danger is always around the corner.

The hard part is that the same instincts that help us survive difficult seasons can quietly rob us of the peaceful ones.

Your line about spending days preparing for a 75-second ride hit me hard because I’ve realized I’ve done the same thing in my own life. So much mental energy spent bracing for what might happen that I sometimes miss what is happening.

Relearning presence has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done because it feels incredibly vulnerable. There is a strange comfort in scanning for the next problem. Letting myself enjoy today can almost feel reckless, as though I’m tempting fate by relaxing.

But I’m slowly discovering that caring for myself isn’t abandoning the people I love. It’s making sure I can keep loving them well.

Sometimes that looks like taking a walk without solving anything. Sometimes it’s sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee and noticing the breeze instead of my to-do list. Sometimes it’s taking a full breath before responding to another email, another appointment, another unknown.

Presence is becoming a practice instead of a destination.

I still prepare. I probably always will. Experience has taught me that life can change in an instant. But I’m trying to hold preparation in one hand and presence in the other.

Those ordinary moments are the life I’ve fought so hard for.

Thank you for the reminder that keeping our eyes open for those moments may be the bravest thing we do.

mary beth kaplan🪶's avatar

Amy, your words landed at the perfect time, enveloped right into my heart. Thank you! We are about a year and a half out after our son rang the bell. His leukemia treatment was a very long process. And my nervous system is still over stimulated. Especially, when holidays roll around, I’m noticing. Like, right now, over this 4th of July holiday. We have family visiting and in answering your prompt questions…gosh have I noticed my need for control. Just wanting to be uber planned and ready for whatever! But, it’s actually just muscle memory. And fear. So hard to just roll with the fun. Because we can now. I’m a big journaling advocate, so I will be journaling on your second question. I really appreciate your vulnerability and showing us it’s okay to talk about the fears we carry.🙏🏼💛

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