Sipping Tea with My Old Friend, Anxiety
Anxiety had been knocking on her door.
Once again, as it had done for years, it arrived unexpectedly, wanting to take over all of her attention, wanting to possess every breath.
What a rude guest.
There is so much air for all of us, and still it kept coming, knocking, trying to steal the little peace that remained, dimming the small flickering light she had finally come to know as God.
This morning it was there again, as though it had been sitting beside her bed, waiting for her to step into the day’s familiar costume. Once again it wanted to show her images of the day ahead, dreams she might have missed, and every possible scenario that could go wrong if she continued ignoring its persistence.
She knew she had to reclaim the air inside her chest.
So, with trembling hands, shaky legs, and every ounce of resistance she could feel, she finally opened the door.
“Come in. How would you like your tea?”
She served two cups and sat them on the bedroom floor.
She took another deep breath and cautiously opened one eye, keeping a polite distance.
Anxiety was still there.
But it wasn’t nearly as frightening as she had imagined all those years it had stood outside her front door. That imagined version had carried layer upon layer of stories, fantasies, and fears that had accumulated over, only God knows, how many lifetimes.
She took her first sip of tea.
Her hand still trembled. That familiar cry in her throat wanting to explode out.
Finally, a few words escaped her lips.
“What do you want from me? Why do you follow me everywhere I go?”
She exhaled and took another sip of tea.
Now both eyes were open.
Anxiety didn’t answer.
So she asked another question, following the rhythm of another tear as it traced its way down her cheek.
“Can you please leave me alone?”
Another sip of tea.
For the first time, she could actually taste it.
It was bitter, yet sweet, carrying a hint of salt from her tears.
Anxiety still had no answers.
Only more stories woven around the same old images that had stared her down for so long.
She took another deep breath.
As comfort began to enter the scene, this dance continued for a while, and before she noticed, she was sitting before two empty cups of tea.
Her door stood wide open.
A gentle breeze drifted in, softly caressing her cheek.
The room was vibrantly silent.
And just like the empty cups before her, so too were her questions.
Her long-uninvited guest was gone.
For the first time, she felt at home.
She no longer needed to guard the entrance.
Gracefully carrying the empty cups back to the kitchen, her gaze rested down on her hands, they were not shaking.
She smiled.
Then, as if Silence itself were speaking, she asked:
Could this Silence be Me?
