Sneaking in to whisper “I love you” into each child’s ear for the 50th time, just in case it’s the last.
Endless thoughts of what will happen next, and when, and why and how…
It’s asking God for forgiveness 500 times for the same thing, because you want to be sure.
It’s having night terrors at 30 years old, and waking up gasping for air.
It’s seeing the worst case scenario in your day dreams, instead of a white, sandy beach.
It’s spending the end of the day seeing wasted moments and broken hours, that could have and should have been spent more wisely.
It’s praying over your babies as if you will never pray over them again.
It’s writing these words at 1:17 a.m., because if you don’t, you may never get to write them.
Anxiety is the endless comma in the world’s longest run-on sentence, because a period is too final, and you’ve got more to say.
And what if you don’t get to say it?
Anxiety is a thief. Of joy. And peace. And love.
Because I have to get this done.
And it has to be this way.
And I don’t have enough time.
And please forgive me.
Anxiety is not…
The answer. Or the ruler. Or the end.
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Thinkstock photo via fyb