The feeling is slow, gradual. Building inside me, sometimes it wants to burst at the seams, but mostly it’s steady and constant. A slow-moving river through my body. Someday I don’t want anyone to know. Not because I’m ashamed, but because this is mine and I like keeping somethings to myself. Something to treasure that others don’t understand. They can’t feel the way I do. This feeling is mine.
I’m surprised by how slow it is. How it grows. In the past my emotions have taken hold of me. Instead of being a part of the wave, I’m swept off my feet by my own emotions. I like treading the water. I like the feeling of being a part of the water, free to move about as I wish, feeling the water embrace me. I prefer it to the rage of emotions I’ve felt before. This is different. You are different. I am different.
Treading water offers me time to think. Some days I begin to think that I’m alone in these waters. That our feelings aren’t mutual. I want to move backwards. Go back before I realized I felt this way. Then I won’t have to deal with the possibility of you not feeling the same. Someday those thoughts enable me to be brave. To jump into the water, swim around, and tell everyone how great it feels. I prefer these days. I prefer to be brave.
The fear of abandonment controls my bravery. I’ve found myself minimizing the feelings I have. Fear is taking hold. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not being worthy, being left behind. I’ve heard others express these fears. How do we get past the edge? How do I jump?
I feel it’s time. I’m scared. I know you are too. The fear will not leave completely, but I trust you to catch me. The best way you can. Your best is enough.
I’m going to make a splash. I hope you’ll make one too.