I'm 79... The Constant Worry & Anxiety Wasn't Love, It Was A Warning Sign скачать в хорошем качестве

I'm 79... The Constant Worry & Anxiety Wasn't Love, It Was A Warning Sign

At 79, Caroline from Austin, Texas spent 11 years mistaking anxiety for love—and she wants you to understand the difference before you waste years like she did. She met Richard at 24. He was magnetic, intense, attentive. He'd call three times a day, tell her she was special, different. It felt intoxicating. But then he'd shift. Go cold. Distant. Like she'd done something wrong but he wouldn't say what. She'd replay every conversation, panicking, trying to figure out what she did. Then he'd come back. Be sweet again. And she'd feel this flood of relief—like everything was okay, like he loved her again. Caroline thought that relief was love. But it wasn't. It was just her nervous system calming down after panic mode. That became the pattern. Good days where he was warm. Then days or weeks where he'd disappear. She'd call, leave messages, drive by his place, feel crazy with worry. When things were good, they were so good. She just wanted to get back to that feeling. He stood her up for dinner once—didn't call, didn't show. She waited an hour, went home crying. The next day he called like nothing happened. And instead of being angry, she was just relieved he was talking to her again. When she asked him to her sister's wedding months away, his face closed off. "Let's not make plans that far ahead." She backtracked immediately, spent weeks being extra careful, proving she wasn't asking for too much. He didn't go to the wedding. Said he had to work. She saw him out with friends that weekend. She didn't say anything—afraid he'd pull away more. Her friends said, "He doesn't treat you well. Are you happy?" She defended him. Said they didn't understand. That when things were good, they were really good. But she wasn't happy. She was anxious. All the time. Her body was constantly on edge, waiting for the next shift. She'd wake up with a knot in her stomach wondering if today would be good or bad. She stopped seeing friends to be available for him. Stopped doing things she enjoyed. Her world narrowed to just him—to keeping things good between them. When she had a bad day and called crying, needing support, he said he was busy. Then didn't call for two days. When she brought it up, he said she was being needy. She apologized for having feelings. She made herself smaller and smaller. Made her needs disappear. Because she was afraid if she asked for too much, he'd leave. She stayed 11 years. He never proposed, never talked about their future, never really said he loved her. But she stayed—not because she loved him deeply, but because leaving felt unbearable. Her body had been trained to need the cycle. He ended it at 35—met someone else. Caroline begged him to reconsider, said she'd change. He said no. For months she felt devastated. But slowly, her body started to calm. The constant alert state eased. She slept better. Her stomach stopped hurting. She saw friends again. She realized: she felt better without him. What she'd felt wasn't love. It was anxiety. Trauma bonding. Her nervous system responding to unpredictable threat. The relief when he was warm wasn't love returning—it was stress temporarily lifting. Caroline eventually married someone kind, steady, predictable. It felt boring at first—no intensity, no wondering where she stood. But she learned that's what real love feels like. Calm. Safe. Now at 79, Caroline's message is clear: If you're constantly anxious, walking on eggshells, always trying to figure out what you did wrong—that's not love. That's a warning sign. Real love doesn't keep you guessing. It doesn't make you shrink. It doesn't require you to apologize for having needs. Anxiety is not passion. It's fear. And confusing the two can cost you years.