The child that is fear
You throw parties and don't invite it, but it sneaks in anyways; the unwanted child. And most of the time you yell at it, or try to keep it away with the weapons your therapist equips you with, weapons like deep breathing and grounding and all those things that you don't believe in but are desperate enough to try. You don't yell at it, today, or grab your weapons, because you have made a mistake and looked into fear's eyes, and seen your own soul glittering back at you through them. Perhaps it is this that weakens your rage against it, or perhaps you know what it is like to be the unwanted child yourself, but today you pick it up and hold it close, this being you have inadvertently created, and party on as though nothing has changed at all. You get looks, ofcourse, pitying ones and ones of genuine sympathy, and some try to take the child away from you, well-meaning friends and family, but you hold it close, almost protectively, and watch them shake their heads in arrogant concern. The child that is fear frightens at each of these attempts, but inevitably quietens once you two are left to be. Your arms tire, as they are wont to do, and you feel your resolve weaken. The day is darkening. The party is over. The child is asleep. You breathe, properly this time, and lay it aside with blankets and old toys you haven't seen in years and years, remnants of love and hope now long lost. You sing a lullaby, and sleep takes you in her arms, gentle and motherly, and you are the child that is fear and the one who holds it, and you are stronger than you realize.
@unassumingEyes
— I put paragraph breaks in it, but for some reason that didnt work, so Im trying to put them again here, for easier reading
You throw parties and don't invite it, but it sneaks in anyways; the unwanted child. And most of the time you yell at it, or try to keep it away with the weapons your therapist equips you with, weapons like deep breathing and grounding and all those things that you don't believe in but are desperate enough to try.
You don't yell at it, today, or grab your weapons, because you have made a mistake and looked into fear's eyes, and seen your own soul glittering back at you through them. Perhaps it is this that weakens your rage against it, or perhaps you know what it is like to be the unwanted child yourself, but today you pick it up and hold it close, this being you have inadvertently created, and party on as though nothing has changed at all.
You get looks, ofcourse, pitying ones and ones of genuine sympathy, and some try to take the child away from you, well-meaning friends and family, but you hold it close, almost protectively, and watch them shake their heads in arrogant concern.
The child that is fear frightens at each of these attempts, but inevitably quietens once you two are left to be. Your arms tire, as they are wont to do, and you feel your resolve weaken. The day is darkening. The party is over.
The child is asleep. You breathe, properly this time, and lay it aside with blankets and old toys you haven't seen in years and years, remnants of love and hope now long lost.
You sing a lullaby, and sleep takes you in her arms, gentle and motherly, and you are the child that is fear and the one who holds it, and you are stronger than you realize.
You have a talent for writing
@Magicpawsoffuture
thank you 🤍