I used to be a worry wart.
It seemed that worry crept into my thoughts like a mouse through the tiniest of holes.
For years I lived like that. I took blame. I took shame.
And probably most unhealthy of all, I worried that I needed a man to make me relevant.
I didn’t know what love was. I sought it, chased after it, grabbed every possibility of it. And yet relationships that seemed promising turned out to be unhealthy.
Then, out of absolute necessity, pressed firmly against an unforgiving wall, I had no choice but to pack myself up and drive away.
I had let the whole thing go on for too long. I had let it go on so long that there was scarcely anything left of me.
So I swept up the pieces and moved on, scary as it was.
In the face of grim reality, I chose survival. Because to stay where I was would have been a sort of death.
I would have to go out into that great big scary world and wrestle my fears into submission.
As I put miles between that place and the highway, all I could think about was how terrifying it all was.
I settled into living alone.
And before I knew it, I realized that I had not only survived, but I had begun to thrive.
The very thing I was so afraid of, being alone…turns out that was what I needed most of all.
The world didn’t end. The lights didn’t go out.
The sky didn’t fall.
Lesson learned: Endless worrying is not only pointless, it can be debilitating as well.
There will always be things to worry about. Just try to shift it into a lower gear so that it doesn’t affect your quality of life and steal your happiness.