When I was a kid, I used to be afraid of dangling my feet over the edge of the bed.
I would wake up in the middle of the night desperate to pee, but also entirely convinced that someone or someTHING was going to grab me as soon as I set foot on the floor.
These were my options: 1). Lie there, eyes wide, petrified, or 2). will every ounce of my 5-year-old strength into my legs while summoning the powers-that-be to jump as far out from my bed as possible (you would have been impressed-seriously).
I realized I haven’t changed much. Except my leap is longer (you’d be impressed – seriously).
No, I’m not saying I’m schizophrenic. I’m not still afraid of monsters under my bed. But I still fear the imaginary.
What I’m talking about is far more common and carries no stigma at all. It’s called worry. To worry is to place all of your faith in the hands of the imaginary.
What if I can’t _____?
What if I’m not_____?
What if I don’t_____?
What if she_____?
What if he_____?
What if….it’s crazy to live like that?
You don’t have to live with so much anxiety.
For your sake and others’: be brave enough to hope. There’s nothing under the bed. (You can go pee, now).