Most of my fears are childhood fears, embedded into the brain of an anxious and highly functional adult. I’m afraid of the dark, of monsters that hide in the closet, and loud noises. I’ve spent the better part of the years I can remember navigating the need for safety and the desire to not live within its constraints.
Several months ago I opened a door to a closet full of memories I had subconsciously decided not to deal with for the larger part of my life.
Some days, it feels more like a warehouse.
Either way, I can’t get the door shut anymore.
I’m not saying that it should be shut either, clearly I’ve got some cleaning up to do. But sometimes I just want to bolt the door and never look inside of it again.
I want to forget what’s hiding in all of those dark and scary corners. Because now that it’s open, it’s as though everything that was once hidden has started to hit me in tsunami waves, and I’m just trying to keep my head above the water. Other days, I’m out at sea learning how to simply savour a break from the waves.
Some days, I remind myself that while I might still have to clean up this warehouse, I don’t have to live there.
And all the monsters in the closet are just people, with their own warehouses too.