The Poisonous Touch

Stress is a poison.

It’s like swallowing thorns or smashing your pinky finger in the car door. 

It eats away at your inner peace, leaving you with nothing but twitching eyelids and scattered thoughts.

I used to say I never let stress get to me, that I was always this carefree, worry-less soul that no storm could shatter.

But when I start to lose balance with love and grace and courage and play and creative flow and freedom and compassion, and I forget what it feels like to laugh at mistakes and turn the page and try again and pray and sing and run... it scares me.

Stress is a poison.

It has tangled me up in a web of sorrow and regret. It has frozen little ounces of anger, piled them on top of each other, and made a mountain of ugly, heavy lies.

You will never get it all done, my stress mountain tells me.

You are embarrassing yourself.

You are wasting your time.

And then I forget to notice.

I forget to notice my breath, the leaves turning yellow outside my window.

I forget to notice the warmth of a hug, the promise of a kiss.

Stress is a poison.

Yesterday I rode my bike. I sat up my hammock in the forest and reminded myself that it was Saturday and I am only 27. I found pleasure in the ants, the rough bark on the trees, the smiles of kids with dogs that passed. I even laughed a little bit when I got lost on a windy trail and had to ask an old man and his family how to find the nature center.

Yesterday, I noticed.

And for a small moment, at least, my stress mountain was just a small hill in the corner of my eye.