Today is August 24 and it is the 1st death anniversary of my fear of death. Ironically, it was a Friday (only close people will understand the relevance of this statement).
Exactly a year ago, I was about to give birth to my 2nd child. As I show up for my monthly check up, the doctor discovered a possible complication to my pregnancy that actually runs in the women of the family. I did my research and as I read every exaggerated published story in the internet, I started to believe I was going to die. Being hormonal, fugly, scared and having a baby bump that is about to pop is not a good combination. My feet were sore and my brain was too from over thinking.
You’d think that the fear of death is the captain of all fears. When you die, you cease to exist and everything goes along with it. A year ago, I came to the realization that that isn’t entirely true. I got through my head what would happen if I did die and those crazy, pregnant speculations scared me more. Apparently, dying was the least of my concerns.
Today is August 24 and I decide to kill another fear that has been taking the reins of my capacity to make unclouded decisions. Today, I kill my fear of pain.
We protect ourselves too much that we don’t notice how we inflict pain in others as well. It’s a horrendous truth and I want to kill it. Everybody should give up that beastly attitude of building a shell of self-centeredness. Can you imagine how happy the world would be if we all loved unconditionally?