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I feel unsettled. I am afraid of sitting still, of allowing myself the space and time to be present with myself. I am afraid that I will break in it. That the magnitude of what I have done will overwhelm me and I will shatter under it.

I know that my fears are probably unrealistic. I know that no matter what I feel, no matter how intensely I feel it, I will be okay on the other end of it. I also know that avoiding the truth of my feelings never works for too long. It will catch me eventually.

The truth is, I am probably more present than I am crediting myself. I simply don’t feel totally comfortable with where I am. I imagine “presence” leading to an outpouring of grief, or a settling calmness, or an abundance of cheer. Instead, I am oddly content while vaguely uncomfortable, and I am on the edge of anticipation, fear and hope. It is a strange place to be, and I don’t particularly like it. I would almost rather be a mess.

I want to shut down. I want to turn my attention off. I am scared, uncertain and a tad bit lonely. Suddenly, I want to run away. I am forcing myself, instead, to breathe.

Hope is a hard thing to carry sometimes.