Changes...
Small and fragile.
That's how she feels, nestled in the core of our being right now.
I can feel the uncertainty. The unease radiating off her in gentle waves.
She's not overwhelmed. Not distraught. Just... Not okay.
It's always this way, when the topic of changing her eating habits comes up. Fear always rears its ugly little head.
“This is just intermittent fasting, dear. You've done it before. You don't need to worry yourself over it.”
My words don't really reassure her, though she acknowledges that I'm right. She knows. She won't deny it.
But the fear remains.
Morning is when most of her snacking happens. Cutting out eating before noon means cutting out her crutch. Disrupting her routine.
Putting in effort.
And that's the crux of it, isn't it?
Effort is so much work. So difficult. Change is so hard.
She's afraid to try.
Afraid to fail.
But she can't stay the same.
Quietly, she rests her forehead against my chest. She huffs the faintest sigh. I smile and run a hand through her hair, resting my chin against the top of her head.
“Alright...” She thinks, “Let's try.”