To my Pounding Heart

Kindly fuck off.

This is not helpful, this is not healthy, to latch on to the anxiety and stress. I know you were raised in a house where to be a working professional meant to wring your hands and loom like an exhausted storm cloud over your dinner, to veg in front of the TV and demand to do nothing with the rest of the evening. I know this pounding comes more naturally than calm, but seriously, I need you to come to the same conclusion my brain has — you are not in danger, you do actually have the energy to be kind.

To my Racing Brain:

Kindly fuck off, also.

Going round and round until you’ve paralyzed yourself into a rut that appears to have no way forward gets us nowhere. You’re also really freaking my heart out, and I need that to stop so I can focus on what I’m doing. I know the terror of wrong decisions triggers your ancient “I will get eaten if I go that way” response, but the truth of the matter is that there are no more tigers here. You have worked through more than you ever thought possible, you have picked yourself up before. Whatever tiger you have convinced yourself is there is not going to swallow you whole.

To my Expanding Lungs:

You’re doing great, sweeties. Please keep filling and releasing, slow and steady, until my heart and my brain calm down.

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