How to Let Worry Slip Away

First—stop trying to shove it out the door.

That just makes it dig its heels in deeper.

Instead, sit down.

Not in the fancy chair.

The worn one. The one that knows your shape.

Take off your shoes.

Feel the floor—cool wood or scratchy carpet,

whatever's true right now.

Press your soles down like you're planting roots.

Breathe in slow through your nose.

Not a yoga breath. Just… a breath.

Like you're smelling rain on hot pavement.

Now here's the part nobody tells you:

Worry hates being seen clearly.

So look at it. Really look.

Is it the thing about money next month?

Or the text you sent that went unanswered?

Give it a name. Out loud if you can.

"My chest feels tight about Tuesday's meeting."

Hear how saying it steals some of its power?

Stand up. Walk to the sink.

Run cold water over your wrists for ten seconds.

Feel that sharp little shock?

That's your body remembering: I'm here. Now.

Open a window.

Let the outside noise in—

a car door slamming, a kid yelling, a dog barking.

Real sounds. Messy sounds.

They crowd out the echo chamber in your head.

Make toast.

Watch the bread turn gold behind the glass.

When it pops up, butter it while it's still hot

so the butter melts into every pore.

Eat it standing up.

Let a crumb fall. Leave it there.

Call someone who won't try to fix you.

Just say: "Having one of those afternoons."

Hear them say "Yeah, me too sometimes."

That's all. Hang up.

The worry might still be there.

But now it's smaller—

like a pebble in your pocket instead of a boulder on your chest.

And that's the secret:

You don't fight the feeling away.

You just make room for other things beside it—

toast crumbs, cold wrists, a dog barking—

until the feeling gets polite

and takes up less space.

You're still you.

The worry's still there.

But now there's air between you.

And air is everything.