My mother was on her way to visit us. About eleven hours of travel from one country to the next. Eleven hours of absolute hell for this woman. She has huge levels of anxiety in general, and for traveling the peak is probably highest, because she only speaks Dutch. The idea was that she’d come here, spend a couple of days, and drive back from Germany to the Netherlands with us. At 9.30am she left her home, thinking that she would arrive here around 8pm.
What followed instead was a mayhem, including cancelled trains, new itineraries, burning trains blocking tracks, violent protests on German train stations. For an a high-anxiety personality that is afraid to leave her home town, this is not good.
At 4pm, she was on the first train station after the Dutch border. Stuck. Vague promises were made. She was scared. And not even remotely close to underway to Munich. Obviously this was great exposure therapy, but it is also hell, something that I understand better than most, as anxiety guides me through life.
Then, she made the only wise decision: she called my brother to pick her up. She was nine hours and only 30 kms away from home.
We’re packing up the van to leave this evening. Let’s see if we can surprise her tomorrow…