No matter how hard I push that brake pedal, nothing happens. The car keeps moving, barely slowing down.
I didn’t have the words then to know then that this is what anxiety feels like. Head spinning, palms sweaty, unable to focus. Irritated, agitated, full of worry and doubt.
BUT I CAN’T SIT DOWN
The dark presence of my embodied guilt following me into every room, sitting with me in my chair and gently tapping my shoulder to remind me — “not finished, not finished, not finished.”
I can set off a chain reaction of intense, painful, obsessive thoughts, or I can simply allow the thought to pass, and redirect my energy into something useful and positive.
But I can’t keep showing up for everyone else when I’m not showing up for myself. I can’t. I physically cannot. I emotionally cannot. I mentally cannot. I have got to RELENTLESSLY ATTEND TO MY OWN SELF CARE.
When we keep climbing the stairs of our lives, going up, and up, and up, and never pausing to look around as see how far we’ve climbed, or who is with is, it won’t just take our breath away when we finally do. It’ll knock the fucking wind out of us, lay us out on the beds we made and ask us to love them.