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This is the writing from yesterday’s prompt – my second “go around”. This prompt is definitely worthy of several writes. I may revisit on another day, later this week, as well.
When I forget to be afraid, I can say what I really think: I am not concerned with the ramifications of every phrase my mind curates before I the words are spoken.
I hear my mother intone to my sister “Think before you speak,” a phrase I didn’t need to hear because it was tattooed across my forearms and my memory before I reached puberty.
It is more than possible this “Think before you speak,” managed to be fodder for me electing not to speak, write, finish for concern with what evil may lurk if I somehow say, scribe or complete in a way that might be offensive.
And I wonder why during dark times of my depression why I thought my very being was offensive? Back then each inhale, every exhale felt like an insult to the universe, painful to execute so many times a day. It felt easiest then to lie in bed on my side, shallow breaths, gazing loosely out my back window praying no one would notice my existence.
I notice today when I get to the end of that turn of phrase, my writing stops completely.
There is still a twinge of “how did I get there?” much like the twinge of “oh, yes, I am right here… still.”
Not in a depressive sense, but in a chronic fear sense wrapped around worries about my almost-all-grown up children.
This, now, has more ramifications and less of a chance for me to be protective toward them.
I am not a helicopter parent like some, but I do always seem to want to be there to soften any difficult punches or prods or stumbles.
(I also realize I don’t want to write about these difficult things. My pauses get more deep and the urge to turn away widens.)
When I forget to be afraid, I poke around my emotions more, with a curiosity rather than an investigator with an agenda.
When I forget to be afraid, I remember to investigate any lingering truth in the emotionally charged assertions. When I forget to be afraid, I take a deep breath and look intensely, openly at the facts in front of me without pre-colored/stained lenses.
I say “oh, interesting!” more regularly than “oh, no,” when I forget to be afraid.