The Time Mia Made A Decision

The rain pitter pattered against the window, adding insult to injury as the incessant barrage of sound absolutely assaulted her already-throbbing migraine.

"Do we really wanna do this?" she asked herself, heart pounding out of her chest, palms sweating. Mia sprung from the kitchen chair and began to pace, for the 77th time that night, pumping herself up. For a moment she paused and held her head in her hands.

"This is pathetic. I'm... pathetic."

She grabbed her glass of merlot, so very thankful for its companionship, and plopped herself right down on the kitchen floor.

When she was a girl, her mother used to sit - and sometimes lay - on the kitchen floor with her when she felt too overwhelmed to make a decision. Mom always knew exactly what to do in any situation, and when she didn't, she had faith that one night of sleep would reveal the answer by morning. How comforting, Mia mused to herself, to live a life so sure of something...anything.

To be so sure of yourself.

Mia laid down and felt the room spinning for a moment. She always thought it so strange how her anxiety seemed to find her most aggressively when she was safe at home. She tried to steady her breath... a nearly insurmountable feat when you're knee-deep within the clutches of all-out panic.

They say anxiety exists in order to protect us. It's the very reason we would be able to hypothetically escape a saber tooth tiger if we found ourselves faced with one.

This wasn't a saber tooth tiger. It was a man.. it was a good man, by all accounts. He opened her car door, he called her every day after work to see how she was doing. He texted, "good morning beautiful" every day at 7am sharp, without exception. He had 4 degrees, atteneded therapy, wanted to enroll in a couples dance class, and made sure to send a floral arrangment on the first of every month, just because. The man had a 401K.

The rain pitter pattered against the window, adding insult to injury as the incessant barrage of sound absolutely assaulted her already-throbbing migraine.

"Do we really wanna do this?" she asked herself, heart pounding out of her chest, palms sweating. Mia sprung from the kitchen chair and began to pace, for the 77th time that night, pumping herself up. For a moment she paused and held her head in her hands.

"This is pathetic. I'm... pathetic."

She grabbed her glass of merlot, so very thankful for its companionship, and plopped herself right down on the kitchen floor.

When she was a girl, her mother used to sit - and sometimes lay - on the kitchen floor with her when she felt too overwhelmed to make a decision. Mom always knew exactly what to do in any situation, and when she didn't, she had faith that one night of sleep would reveal the answer by morning. How comforting, Mia mused to herself, to live a life so sure of something...anything.

To be so sure of yourself.

Mia laid down and felt the room spinning for a moment. She always thought it so strange how her anxiety seemed to find her most aggressively when she was safe at home. She tried to steady her breath... a nearly insurmountable feat when you're knee-deep within the clutches of all-out panic.

They say anxiety exists in order to protect us. It's the very reason we would be able to hypothetically escape a saber tooth tiger if we found ourselves faced with one.

This wasn't a saber tooth tiger. It was a man.. it was a good man, by all accounts. He opened her car door, he called her every day after work to see how she was doing. He texted, "good morning beautiful" every day at 7am sharp, without exception. He had 4 degrees, atteneded therapy, wanted to enroll in a couples dance class, and made sure to send a floral arrangment on the first of every month, just because. The man had a 401K.