Sometimes it’s a little hard to believe

There’s a moment in each day where pure panic hits me – usually it’s when I’m driving and usually it’s some innocuous thing that sets me off. The brain starts churning and I start thinking of all the possible worst case scenarios and then before I know it, my eyes are puddling up with big stupid tears and I am so grateful there’s no one around to see me, just in case that tear makes its way down my face.

Because I’m scared.

I have maybe three more weeks of full time work and I cannot find anything to help fill those spaces to supplement the income for the hours I won’t be working, despite the millions (or so it seems) of resumes I have sent out.

So, I struggle with the part where I have to believe that good things will come my way and that I’m doing my best and that I’ll get through it. I struggle and I borrow faith and I do what I can do and I keep putting one foot in front of the other and I hope against what feels like unbeatable odds (I may be a bit melodramatic these days) that somehow things will work out, that something will come along, that my worry and anxiety over this mess was all for naught.

I’m trying so hard to believe it. To believe in myself. To stop with all the worry and just ride it out.

But it’s tough, and it’s getting tougher as the weeks zip fast.

So cross your fingers for me and throw magic fairy dust my way. And remind me to catch my breath and breath and to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to keep pushing against the fear, and keep trying – even when it feels hopeless – to get things done.