There’s this Thing that I live with.  

I can’t remember when we met. We were both younger; old acquaintances.  Yet it’s not true to say that we grew up together.  The Thing‘s a bit of a shape shifter, really. Sometimes it’s bigger than me.  Other times it shrinks to nothing.  

When it’s small, The Thing feels distant; a theoretical possibility, like TB or terrorism. It lurks in the background as a shadow, making me alert but not alarmed. 

But when it’s big, The Thing is wild and mean. It eats everything and tastes nothing. It locks me inside, and tells my friends I’m not home. It wakes me up at night. It drags me down in the day. It makes me go places late and leave early. 

The Thing reminds me of every time I’ve misspoken, failed, and not been enough. It curates my memories and packages them as a “Worst Of” compilation which it plays on repeat. Track 1 is Pain. Track 2 is Embarrassment. Track 3 is Guilt. Track 4 is Rejection. Track 5 is Sloth. Track 6 is Hubris. And on it goes. 

In those times, The Thing feels impossible to tame. It doesn’t listen to reason. It isn’t soothed by kind words or promises.  It won’t go for for walks, or be tricked by distractions. 

I can’t always guess what will make it big.  It feasts on different things. Some are old staples – mistakes, grief, disappointment. Other meals are unexpected delicacies – a passive aggressive email, an awkward dinner party conversation, a careless remark, a look, a tone. 

I try to starve The Thing of opportunities to grow.  I stay on well-worn paths. I keep my head down. I make myself unthreatening, invisible. 

But, in the end, I realise The Thing is starving me.

The trick to outfoxing The Thing is as frightening as it is freeing. You beat The Thing when you make yourself most vulnerable to it. You run towards it – into the unknown – wincing and waiting for the blow, the bite, the drop. 

You say ‘yes’. You send emails, call friends, introduce yourself to strangers. You try things you might not be able to do. You plan. You create. You write. You tweet. You RSVP. You make. You do. You hope. You ask for help. You allow yourself to dream of more. You trust you can fail, and still have worth. 

You make yourself bigger and stronger so that however big The Thing makes itself, you feel safe in the knowledge that you are always bigger. 

Because you are, my dear. You are. 

So, run on.