Sometimes I wonder how much of my anxiety
comes from not being able to trust anyone
or anything, because why restrict yourself
to just being afraid that people will hurt you
when you can also fear that things will break
(just because it would be awful for them to).
It’s pervasive, this problem with trust,
because the worst things I wonder are not
whether it’s silly to be so very anxious
about the idea of failing to open a door right;
it’s whether I need to trust something
that I know to be true. Because surely then
I’ll have no chance at knowing anything
when it’s so hard for me to trust others,
let alone myself.

Leaps of faith are not really my forte,
though I’ve made many and I’ll make more
because there comes a point in every journey
where the next step is a leap and there’s
no way round the fact that you just
have to jump. But don’t think that
just because I keep jumping means that
I’m not afraid or I don’t worry anymore
or that I’ve learned how to trust.

Because the truth is I won’t be able
to trust anyone until I can trust myself
and if I have to trust things I know
(but I can’t trust things I know)
then this is going to take a lot longer,
which is probably why I’m lying here
twisted into an amateurish pigeon pose
listening to the soothing voice of
this wonderful yoga instructor encouraging me,
gently, to trust that my body will
be able to hold itself in this position –
asking me to whisper two words I know
to be impossible: “I trust. I trust. I trust.”

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