Sometimes the light feels too bright and harsh.
I can’t see where I am going or what I am doing. Sounds echo through my head like being in a tunnel.
It is deafening.
It is overpowering.
I can’t catch my breath, but also can’t stop moving. Everything is vibrating. It’s too fast—rattling and unstable. Spinning in circles, spiraling out of control.
Over sensitized, despair and fear grow ever larger. It’s too much, it’s all too much. Monsters appear out of nowhere. Battles begin but never end.
Running in circles.
Running in place.
Fighting for my life, fighting for myself.
More control is what I need—but the bigger the monsters grow and feed.
Slowly I see that some battles aren’t worth fighting. Some monsters may never be slain.
It feels hopeless and depressing. It feels too big.
Then, something allows me, for just a moment, to stop and take a step back.
Suddenly, just for a moment, I see the bigger picture. A crack appears in the facade. The light slowly filters through, it’s not blinding anymore, it’s no longer harsh. Softness, peacefulness wash over me. Just for a moment.
And in the stillness of that moment—I fall inward.
I let go.
Falling quietly past my fears, past despair, past the monsters—
they dissolve as if they never existed.
Control becomes trust.
Falling inward I wonder what will be there to catch me?
Will I need to be caught?
Is there an end to this fall?
But none of these questions really matter as long as I just fall.
Author: Kim Eckhoff
Volunteer Editor: Kim Haas/ Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock
Photo: Marek Lenik / Flickr