Friday Fires

The best way for me to describe how I felt when the Depression and Anxiety took over, is extinguished.

Crippled by exhaustion and weighted with fear, I strained to accomplish the simplest of tasks.

Eating.  Showering.  A load of laundry.  A five-minute commute to my son’s daycare.

Everything seemed to physically hurt, emotionally drain, and psychologically just be, too much.  This was especially painful, because for the majority of my existence I had associated what I could do with how much I deserved to be loved.  Therefore, if I couldn’t do much, I predicted that those who I loved the most, would inevitably – justifiably, stop loving me.

Once deep into treatment I started to chip away at those lies, until that big ole barrier came crashing down and the truth of my worth started to shine through.

One of the exercises I did at this time was go out into our backyard and get a fire going.  I’ve loved campfires for as long as I can remember, and for me there’s this real primal satisfaction in being able to actually breathe life into the flames.

I named the exercise “Fire Starter,” and it’s only point was to remind me that I am one.

We all are.

This morning I woke up with the smell of campfire in my hair after a long, fun, happy night with dear friends.

And I realized what a miracle it is, to have so many Fire Starters in my life, who happily rekindle each others’ flames without ever even really needing to be asked.


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