Today my old friend, Anxiety came to visit.
Instead of barring the door, trying to forget his constant knocking, or forcefully, violently beating him into submission, I take a full breath and give him permission to enter my home.
Through my deep breathes he walks into my safe place, arrogantly, tracking in accusations and condemnations onto the floor, (I will sweep the hardwoods when he goes.)
"Hello Anxiety, welome, how can I be of help to you today?", the largeness of his size is quite daunting.
Stories come flooding, faster than I can hold, quicker than my tongue can taste, and more complex than my brain can compute, I breath. He is full of reasons why he is here, full of convincing arguments of why I should quit, how little and insignificant I am. He is so fast.
I sit and listen for a few more minutes, my heart rate increases, and I know now our time together for today is up.
"Thank you Anxiety, for telling me how you feel, and helping me understand you more fully. I am done now, and must ask you to leave. You are welcome back again when you feel the need. Thank you for coming over and having this conversation. Until next time old friend."
He slowly gets up and heads towards the door with a similar posture as he entered, he leaves knowing he will be back again tomorrow.
I don’t know if our time together meant anything to him, but it meant something to me.
To engage areas of myself with grace, not allowing fear to dictate my action or inaction, and having full ears to truly hear, to listen to the difficult parts of who I have come to be, these parts of me that long to be heard, and understood, not fixed, shamed, or sent away.
Invite them in. Have a drink. And listen to their stories.