I love to write.
I don’t really know why I don’t come here more often.
Wait a minute, it’s that little bitch called anxiety.
The why’s with no answer.
It occurred to me just a bit ago, that on most nights, we’ll say around 8:30 or so. I have kids. Bedtime never happens quickly or smoothly for that matter. But, around that time I get to shift down a gear.
And most nights when this happens, I find myself being able to hear my thoughts once again.
These thoughts of all the things I can and should do.
The empowering thoughts of lighting a fire under myself and start tackling life again.
Quit smoking. Get back in shape. Be more me with less fear.
I used to be fearless. Except for spiders, that fear has and will always exist. I used to be independent, bold and strong.
I lost it.
So, every night I get a chance to revisit these thoughts, I always devise a plan. I tell myself tomorrow is a new day. I can make changes. I have the control. Instead of sitting idle as my anxiety takes the wheel, I am going to quit fearing the maybes and the no’s. I am not going to continue to coast on by each day and just hope a giant wave doesn’t come crashing down.
I am going to do at least one thing that makes me uncomfortable. That puts me in a vulnerable position that I’ll do anything in my power to avoid.
My life has been nothing short of chaos since my divorce. I am tired and battered and bruised.
But, only I can make the changes, improve and grow.
So, tomorrow. No matter what it may be. I am going to do something. I am not going to let that little voice that talks me out of everything to have total control.
I am going to surprise that bitch anxiety.
And hopefully I can build on that.
I have been drifting for far too long. If I truly love my family and want what is best for them, then I should be able to muster up enough strength to fight back.
I want better.