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Writer's pictureThe Grief House

Building Playgrounds For Our Fear

The thing about my fear is that she's frightened and she's frightening.



I catch her staring at me with her black eyes and, from time to time, I think: she's hungry. She's just tired and hungry. She needs to be picked up.

But...how hungry? Too hungry?

Hungry creatures are dangerous. I rarely pick her up.

Often, instead, I throw things at her till she runs away; then run away myself - fast and far.

I've shown her to people and watched them scurry, which makes me know she's dangerous and bad. Objectively. For sure.

But then again, I've shown her to people and watched them stay and touch her. Brave people. So maybe touching her is possible.

I'd like it to be possible.

I'd like to try getting close enough to touch her. I'd like to let you try.

If you want, I'll crouch down near your fear. I'll make soft noises. If you want

we could make this deal: I'll stay close if you will. Or I'll try

if you'll try.

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