A Morning of Doubt

This morning a wave of anxiety hit me. I’d just sent the kids to school and husband to work. Usually my mornings leave no room for anxiety.

They begin at full speed. Packing three lunches. Three breakfasts. Running up and down the stairs checking on the kids. Negotiating about how much milk needs to be consumed. “Can I have only half the cup?” Dealing with the fact that breakfast today is suddenly not someone’s favourite anymore. Tying hair in place. Arguing about tying hair in place. Reminding someone that toys cannot be taken to school. Rechecking if the right uniform is worn on PE days.

And one eye on the clock. Always one eye on the clock.

Setting up three-minute reminders on my watch. Instructions shouted up the staircase.

“Three minutes!”
“Shoes!”
“Swimming Kit!”

Then packing everyone into the car in a blur of water bottles, school bags and half-finished conversations. Usually by the time I come back inside, the house feels like it has exhaled. The quiet is earned.

I make coffee. Sit down. 

It was exactly that moment. The first moment to myself that was not thinking about the next task to be done. And that was when the anxiety arrived.

I was sipping my coffee and nibbling on breakfast, totally unprepared for the onslaught of self doubt, a gut wrenching questioning of my decision to stay in Riyadh during tense moments in the region.

My logic was that going to India is not a solution. 

My older one takes her GCSE board exams in two months. We already uprooted her in the middle of the crucial year – changing her country, school, social circle, teachers, her entire support system. Now to do that again, right before the exams and bring her back, would be unfair.

Besides, many companies here continue to function as normal. Husband needs to go to work. They haven’t gone to remote work just yet. Not sure if they are planning to. So, going to India means he will be here alone. Not acceptable. Whatever we need to endure, we will do it together as a family. We decided this as soon as the issue started. 

So why am I questioning my decision today? Because I am constantly hearing of people leaving. Every day on the chat group, the ladies are only discussion flights – the availability, the delays, the cancellations, the departures. You see? The departures. People are leaving. 

Yesterday evening when we walked around the compound, it felt different. Quieter than usual. More windows were dark. Fewer children on bicycles. Fewer couples walking. Fewer delivery vans. Empty playgrounds. No kid arguing with nanny to stay for another 15 minutes. Fewer dogs and cats too. I noticed these things without meaning to. Absence has a way of announcing itself. 

I am seeing the proof, I am reading the proof. 

But why? 

I did read someone’s account on social media. A family of four in Dubai – working parents, two young kids below seven years. The mother said that the sounds scared the kids. Schools have declared early easter break. I don’t have family here. With kids at home, the sounds of defence systems at odd hours, I can’t manage work. So, they left for Europe where her parents are. 

Another family I know left for India. The relatives back home were insistent. Constant family pressure. 

And yet…

I’ve met people in my compound who have no plans of leaving. Spoken to parents of my kids’ classmates who are actually preparing for Eid. Chatted with friends in Dubai who say, after two decades, this is home. Where do we go?

These stories reassure and confuse in equal measure. One family leaving because their children are frightened. Another leaving because relatives back home insist. Yet others staying, preparing for Eid, talking about the week ahead as if life must continue exactly as it always has.

Everyone leaving believes they are making the safe decision.
Everyone staying believes they are making the rational decision.

But moments like this offer no certainty to anyone.

We like to believe that if we gather enough information, read enough updates, hear enough opinions, the right answer will reveal itself. As if somewhere there exists a perfectly rational choice that guarantees safety.

But in moments like this, nobody actually knows.

We are all making decisions with incomplete information, hoping that what feels sensible today will not look foolish in hindsight. The questions remain. Am I taking the right decision? Am I putting the family’s safety at risk? 

You see, I just finished reading The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. Coincidentally, it tells the story of an American family in Congo, in the 1950s, with the backdrop of political instability. A pivotal moment in the book is when the father, a priest, decided to stay even when his missionary advised them to leave. That single decision tore the family apart. Such stories carry weight when read in the most normal of days. Reading them when you are in a similar situation hits home differently, it brings back the fear of making the wrong choice.

Thankfully, none of the family were home to see this anxiety attack. It first manifested in tears, then short breaths. I tried to push it back. Holding back tears, keeping them in the eyes, even willing them to traverse back into the tear glands. If the tears fell, I’ll lose the battle with self control. I tried listening to calming music, I tried breathing exercises, I tried 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique. Nothing worked.

In the end, I moved to a different room, opened my laptop and started to work. Focus eluded me. So I took a deep breath and started writing this. In the background, I played 108 recitations of Gayatri Mantra, the all powerful mantra of my childhood. Returning to basics. My basics. Now my hands are steady as I type. Repeating the mantra 108 times reminded me that I can do what is in my control. Some things are. That’s all I need to focus on. Leave the rest be. One day at a time, one breath at a time.