You’re standing on the edge of the impossible, eye to eye with whatever scares you the most. You can feel your heart racing, palms sweating, lips chapping. Dread drops into the pit of your stomach like a ton of bricks, the weight of it stopping you dead in your tracks.
Except your impossible isn’t an Everest, it’s not a parachute and roaring jet engines, it’s not even love or loss, and it doesn’t take a free-fall to feel your heart beat its way up into the back of your throat.
No, your impossible is the everyday; it’s the crusty stack of dishes that’s sat on the kitchen counter for longer than you’d like to admit. It’s the pile of laundry crushed behind your bedroom door, the wet towels crumbled up on the dusty floor. The long hair in tangles, fist-sized knots that you know are going to rip, pull and tear with the wave of a brush, so you sigh, push it up into a bun, and then try to push it out of your mind.
It’s the lies that you tell yourself. That you’re not good enough, not smart enough, not capable enough, not pretty enough. That you don’t know what you’re doing, so why even bother trying?
It’s the hopelessness you feel when you don’t know if you can force yourself out of the bed in the morning. The twinge of pain and self-loathing that seeps around the edges as you worry about being branded as “lazy” or “crazy” when really you’re just so, so tired that your bones ache a little more with every waking moment.
You breathe. Stretch. Exhale.
Slowly count backwards from 10.
And think about living in a world where one person’s Everest is your dental appointment, your phone call, your crowded grocery store on a Saturday afternoon. A world where you are forced to face your fears every single day, because if you were to choose not to, your fears would probably just swallow your entire life whole.
So you live your life perpetually on that edge. Always feeling like you’ve missed a step, like you’ve forgotten something important, like the monster could pop around the corner and yell “boo!” at any given moment.
There is no ‘off’ switch, no magic potion, no quick fix. Just the racing of your heart, and one quiet promise: to choose to love yourself even when that’s the scariest thing to do of all.