With my mom in Bali, surrounded by a landscape I still return to in my mind.
Sometimes, the fear arrives in the middle of a hug.
I am embracing someone I love, perhaps saying goodbye, and instead of simply feeling the comfort of being close to them, I feel a sense of dread. One day, I think, I will not be able to feel this hug.
It is a painful place for my mind to go when the person I love is right there with me. I want to receive the warmth of that moment, yet part of me is already imagining its absence. And sometimes I find myself wondering whether there is something wrong with me for feeling this way.
In What Bali Taught Me About Worry, Love, and Learning to Let Go, I shared how the fear of losing my mother accompanied me even on a beautiful trip we were taking together. Being a therapist did not exempt me from that fear.
That story raises a question that reaches far beyond a retreat in Bali: What can we do when the fear of losing someone we love keeps pulling us away from the time we have with them?
Why a happy moment can feel vulnerable
For much of my life, my mother has been my comfort and my safe place. Especially before I married, she was my biggest protector, the person I turned to when I was frightened or hurting. When I think about the fear of losing her, I also think about everything her presence has meant to me.
That connection may look different in your life. Perhaps the person you worry about is a parent, a partner, a child, or a friend. For some people, earlier losses or frightening experiences make uncertainty especially difficult. Others cannot point to a particular event. You do not need to find a perfect explanation before taking your distress seriously.
I recognize how easily worry can become an attempt to prepare for a future I cannot control. It even shows up in my ability to accept help. When my family offers support, including financial help, I sometimes tell myself that one day I will have to figure things out without them, so I should not rely on the help that is available now.
My mom reminds me that this is what family is for. I know the help is offered willingly, and still, receiving it can be difficult. Allowing myself to accept support in the present, without immediately thinking about the day it may no longer be there, is a work in progress.
If any of this sounds familiar, I want you to know that you are not alone. I understand the tenderness beneath that fear. I also believe we can learn to give it a little less room in our daily lives, without asking ourselves to love anyone less.
The following suggestions are small places to start. Choose one that feels manageable rather than turning presence into another thing you have to get right.
Poolside palms and blue sky in Bali.
1 Name the fear without arguing with it
When a painful thought appears, notice the words you use with yourself. “Stop being ridiculous” adds criticism to a moment that already hurts. An hour of trying to prove that nothing bad will happen can leave you exhausted, too.
Try a simple description: “I am having a fear about losing someone I love.” You can acknowledge that this is a tender subject without treating every frightening possibility as a problem you must solve immediately.
Then notice what you were doing before the thought arrived. Were you listening to a story? Walking together? Making lunch? See whether you can return a little attention to that activity, even while some discomfort remains.
You do not have to repeat the sentence until it makes you feel better. Use it as a gentle acknowledgment, then give yourself permission to continue.
2 Separate a practical concern from a frightening possibility
Ask yourself, “Is there something specific that needs my attention today?”
If a parent needs transportation to an appointment, you can arrange the ride. If you and a partner need to discuss a practical concern, you can choose a time to talk. Write down one useful next step, including when you will take it.
A question such as “What if something happens someday?” is different. There may be no action that can provide the certainty your mind wants. You can recognize that uncertainty without spending the rest of the evening mentally rehearsing it.
Try writing two short lines: “What I know right now” and “What I am imagining.” Keep the first one factual. “She has not replied yet” is a fact. The frightening explanation your mind supplies may be only one of many possibilities.
This distinction is for ordinary uncertainty. If there is a concrete reason to think someone is in danger, take the appropriate practical or emergency steps. Being present includes responding to what actually needs care.
3 Find your way back through your senses
The colors, textures, and quiet beauty of a Bali garden.
Grounding through the five senses is something I have taught clients for a very long time. Bali did not introduce me to mindfulness. What it gave me was a richer collection of images, sounds, and memories to return to: the natural landscape, the gardens and goddess sculptures, and the mantras and songs I can still sing quietly in my mind.
I think about holding my mother's hand during the water ceremony and chanting with the Balinese women. I remember embracing her in front of the volcano and kneeling at a temple. Those memories help bring me back home to my heart, to what I describe as my deep knowing of peace and love.
When I give my attention to the feeling of one of those sacred moments, I find it harder to follow the next frightening thought into a rabbit hole of doom, gloom, and loss. Other thoughts and feelings may still be there. I practice gently returning my attention to the memory of being connected, rather than continuing to imagine everything I am afraid of.
It is not perfect, but it does help.
You do not need a memory of Bali to try this. Begin with what is around you. Feel your feet against the floor. Notice a color nearby, listen to a sound, or pay attention to the texture of something in your hands. You can explore sight, sound, touch, smell, or taste without needing to use all five senses or follow a perfect sequence.
If a comforting memory feels helpful, you might briefly recall being together in a place where you felt connected. Then return to the person or activity in front of you. You are giving your attention somewhere to rest, rather than requiring yourself to erase every painful thought.
If a memory, your breathing, or sensations inside your body make you more anxious, keep your eyes open and focus on something outside yourself instead. You can also stop. A grounding practice should not become another test you have to pass.
4 Notice when reassurance stops helping
An agreed-upon arrival text can be an ordinary part of caring for one another. The difficulty is when one message no longer feels sufficient, and you need another check, another update, or another promise before you can settle.
Repeated reassurance can provide brief relief while keeping the search for certainty going. You may notice that the relief lasts only until the next “but what if?”
For a day or two, gently observe the pattern: What set off the urge to check? What did you do? How long did the relief last? You are gathering information, not grading yourself.
When there is no new safety concern, pause before an extra check and ask, “Do I need new information, or am I trying to feel completely certain?” Return to one ordinary activity while you consider that question. Keep necessary medical or caregiving arrangements in place.
If checking feels compulsory, causes conflict, or takes substantial time, bring that specific pattern to a therapist. You deserve help understanding it, rather than pressure to simply stop.
5 Let ordinary connection be enough
Stock photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash
Sometimes the instruction to “cherish every moment” creates its own anxiety. Now you are worried about loss and worried that you are failing to appreciate someone properly.
A relationship has room for ordinary afternoons. You can be tired, distracted, or mildly annoyed and still love the person beside you. Every visit does not have to become a memory worthy of framing.
Choose one small way to participate in the relationship today. Ask a question and listen without preparing your response. Make a cup of tea. Share something funny. Put your phone aside for part of the conversation.
If you want to take a photograph or ask about a family story, you can. But notice if preserving the moment becomes another urgent assignment. You are allowed to enjoy someone without trying to save every detail for a future without them.
For today, “I listened to her story” may be enough.
6 Let love and uncertainty exist together
There may still be moments when a hug brings up both comfort and sadness, when gratitude is accompanied by the awareness that life can change. I know that feeling well.
I’m learning that I don’t have to push the sadness away or resolve every fear before I can enjoy the person in front of me. I can notice what I’m feeling, take a breath, and gently return to the warmth of the embrace.
Some days that will feel easier than others. That’s okay. Being present is a practice, not a promise to get it right. And sometimes the simplest place to begin is to let ourselves receive the love that’s here, right now.
The green terraces and tropical foliage of Bali.
When the fear needs more support
Consider reaching out when worry regularly disrupts sleep, makes it difficult to enjoy time together, leads you to avoid ordinary activities, or leaves you repeatedly checking on loved ones. You do not have to wait until life feels unmanageable.
A therapist can help distinguish everyday fear from patterns that may need more specific treatment. For example, intrusive fears combined with repetitive checking or mental rituals can warrant assessment for OCD. Worry about a loved one does not, by itself, mean you have OCD.
In my practice at Hope & Healing Professional Counseling in Groton, Connecticut, I specialize in Accelerated Resolution Therapy, or ART. ART uses guided eye movements and imagery to work with distressing experiences and the emotions and physical sensations associated with them.
My connection to this work is personal. During my basic ART training several years ago, I had my first experience receiving ART myself. Before that, I could not speak about my childhood abuse without my body responding: hives, uncontrollable tears, rapid breathing, and sometimes a sense of panic and overwhelm.
After two ART sessions, I found that I could talk about those experiences, write about them, and think about them while my body remained neutral. The memories are still unpleasant. What changed was my response to them. In my own experience, the distressing images and physical sensations gave way to the positive imagery and neutral or positive sensations I had worked with in ART.
That experience has made it possible for me to speak more openly about this part of my life. Over the years, I have also seen meaningful shifts in the people I work with. Those experiences give me tremendous hope about what is possible. I know personally how significant it can feel when something you could barely speak about no longer brings the same overwhelming physical response.
If a fear of loss is connected to experiences that remain upsetting, ART may be one option to explore. Meaningful change can sometimes happen in a relatively brief course of treatment. My own two-session experience is one example, rather than a timeline I can promise anyone else. Together, we would look at what you are experiencing, what you want to change, and which approach fits your needs.
You can learn more about anxiety therapy in Connecticut and explore whether working together may be a good fit. You are welcome to ask questions before deciding.
A place to begin today
The next time your mind moves ahead to an imagined loss, try asking yourself a smaller question: “How would I like to spend the next few minutes with this person?”
Perhaps you will ask them to finish the story. Perhaps you will sit together without needing to say very much. You may still feel a little afraid.
Since Bali, I have been practicing returning to those moments of connection. I still feel afraid sometimes. I still have to remind myself to receive the love and support that are here now.
Perhaps the next time I hug my mother, the thought of someday missing her will appear again. I hope I can notice it, feel her arms around me, and allow myself to be there for the hug we are sharing. That is the practice I keep coming back to.
Further reading
The Let Them Theory and making room for what you can control
What to expect from your first counseling session
NHS guidance on working through worries
World Health Organization guide to practical stress skills
This article offers general education and is not a substitute for individualized mental health or medical care.