A Mantra to Myself

In times of fear and when anxiety looms over me as tall as every mountain I will never climb, love prevails.

Love is to myself as that boy in my fifth grade gym class who always failed our physicals was to any sort of physical exercise.

That is to say: we are not often found occupying the same space.

Not to say that I don't love.

I love french fries and I love my family and I absolutely love summer storms.

I love flowers and I love color and I love my boyfriend most of all.

But love for myself is as rare and fleeting as those memories of being excited by every single thing that existed when I was young are becoming.

The thing with memories though, as well as love, is that as they fade more and more are seeking us out.

We can never truly be without love or memories.

When I shrink away from any mirror because I know that maybe I love those french fries just a little too much, a voice whispers "love prevails."

When I lay awake at night imagining all the ways something wrong could be happening to my family because I am so many hours away from them and it just. won't. shut. off.

The light across the room that I always have to have on even as a 20 year old speaks into the darkness "love prevails."

When I spiral down into myself afraid of all the irrational ways I can think of that this amazing man that I love probably doesn't love me I look into his eyes and they hold me tight, wrapped in "love prevails".

And on the hardest days when those storms come back for me for daring to think that I, so small and insignificant, have any right to claim love for electricity and excitement and life itself, I stand firm and scream into the storm, LOVE PREVAILS.

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