The boogeyman is everywhere and there is definitely a monster under my bed. Fear is my constant companion and she whispers in my ear all the what if's....
What if loving my husband and kids so much means I will lose them? What if I open my heart to my friend and she rejects me? What if I write and it is shit? What if I admit that I am good enough, and find out that I am not after all?
I want to fly close to the sun but I am afraid that my wings are made of wax. The to do lists and the busyness are all the ways I avoid feeling vulnerable/intimacy/joy. Fear diminishes the colors of my life and sometimes I feel like Dorothy before she made it to Oz. My life is like a cocktail that has sat in the sun for too long. My life is diluted.