what if it all turns out okay?
things I tell myself in the middle of the night
A quick note before today’s piece: I had an essay published by TODAY about our IVF journey!! You can read it here.
I have this theory that everything could change if I just shifted my perspective. Tilt the axis, spin the glass, slightly turn in a new direction. These are the things I tell myself in the middle of the night when my limbs become restless, my thoughts racing.
Maybe this is normal for your 30s. Maybe it’s because I haven’t found my footing since moving to a new city, even though it’s been four years. There is the before, and there is the after. Like a silent movie in shades of grey that you can’t stop watching. Sometimes, I find I no longer recognize this version of my life. Yet it’s also the only version that feels familiar.
The perspective I’m trying to shift:
I want to stop being worried all the damn time.
Worried about health. Worried about work. Worried about my loved ones. Worried about writing. Worried about what comes next — for me, for the world, for everything.
Just now, as I’m writing this, a car crashes outside my window.
It’s a minor accident, only bumpers colliding. But the metal crunches all the same, sending waves of fear through my body, reminding me that the world is not a safe place. There is an end to this all, an end to me, and it’s looming.
Anxiety can become a warped sort of armor. I start to believe that — by fearing the worst —I am somehow protecting myself. Maybe it’s because I’m writing about it. Name something and you can’t ignore it any longer. But it’s easy to let my mind slip away while the anxiety slips in. You forget to look up, see the sun, and remember that everything exists in perfect balance.
When trauma and tragedy punctuate the seasons, your only goal is survival. That’s how it was two summers ago when my sister was in the hospital, when I had the miscarriage. By September, my body was longing for winter. But then she was there and I just wanted to feel warm again.
And so I had this thought the other day: What if it all ends up okay?
So many hours spent (wasted?) going over the variables and worst-case outcomes. But the truth is, I think we sometimes want to give up on seeing goodness because it’s too hard. It hurts too much when the dark comes back in. It becomes easier to sit in worry because then at least you are never shocked or surprised when it turns out exactly as you feared. You can’t be snatched from the light when you’re not sitting in it anymore.
Positivity and hope are so incredibly hard—I want to recognize that. Especially now. Especially when we live in a polarized society and are consistently surrounded by pain—pain that is very real and unfair.
But I also want to recognize that emotional sensitivity (the kind experienced by highly sensitive people) is like an amplifier. Worries are heightened, and anxieties become everything. It’s all we see. Suddenly, a life lived in fear is our normal. We wait for the other shoe to drop. Until it does…or doesn’t.
A note I wrote for myself to help with this perspective shift:
This piece is originally from fall 2022. This summer, I am sharing old writing to give myself time to work on my book. Whether this is your first time reading this piece, or it’s a re-read, I hope you enjoy it. xx
Writing from the Feelings Not Aside community:
Earlier this summer, I asked you all to send me the essays and pieces you are most proud of. Thank you to everyone who emailed me. Your writing is so beautiful. Here are a few of the pieces that were sent in:
Weekly Feels
My Spotify algorithm has been completely influenced by listening to this song 10x a day.
This essay from
Taylor.Why is this reddit thread so old but so good? If you need to feel better about the world, spend five minutes here.
This piece on how to be happy (advice from a 90-year-old)
My summer mood:
Wow this came at the moment I need it most. Your writing about overcoming grief and darkness fills my heart with hope. Thank you. 😭🫂
I finally got around to reading this, and I felt it in my stomach and my chest, the places where anxiety writhes when it’s left unchecked. I used to be stuck in that state of being, of feeling like everything can hurt me and nothing will be ok. It took me a long time to change my thinking, but now when I find myself slipping, I’m able to let the feeling play out and then let it go.
Everything might turn out ok, or it might not. But we can’t control everything. It’s a hard thing to accept. I still struggle with it sometimes. I’ve taken to saying “everything happens” as an alternative to “everything happens for a reason.” Everything happens, and we adjust.
Thanks again for sharing my poem. And thanks as always for sharing your words.