I’m the one that drives 12 in a 40 during a snowstorm because I’m scared of crashing.
I’m the one that panics when the 3 year old sleeps through the night, because she usually doesn’t.
I’m the one that cries at doggie daycare drop off because I’m afraid of my puppy with the other dogs.
I’m the one who tries really hard not to go into stores and religiously wears her mask.
I’m the one that decided to keep her daughter remote during a pandemic because she’s scared of it.
I’m the one who lost her mom to cancer at 16 and her Dad to bad lifestyle choices at 39.
I am the one who was hit by her car in her driveway and watched her son die.
I am the one with PTSD, anxiety and probably a myriad of other issues.
I am the one that doesn’t necessarily live in fear, but has lived too much in reality.
I am the one that has seen too much, lived too much loss, yet still really hopes it will all just be ok.
This is what is left and I’m tired of apologizing for whom I’ve become.