Dear Doubt

Dear Doubt, We’ve Danced Before

You always arrive like clockwork.

Not in rage or chaos, but in whispers that wear the voice of reason.

And I’ll admit it — your timing is impeccable.

You raise good questions, actually.

Is this all just sugarcoating?

Is finding meaning in a spider by my bed,

or writing open letters to life itself,

just a poetic distraction from the pain?

Maybe.

But let me answer you truthfully.

I know you because you are me —

The part that once needed everything to be proven, grounded,

peer-reviewed before it was permitted to hold weight.

I see you roll your eyes at my soft landings

and the spiritual metaphors I extract from heartbreak and house moves.

I know it looks like I’m “making it all okay”

with some Pinterest-plated version of fate.

But here’s the thing you’ve forgotten:

For years, I didn’t see the magic.

I only saw the mess.

I drowned in what-ifs and over-analysis.

I over-apologised, overworked, and called it strength.

I tried to think my way through grief, and got sick instead.

No one handed me a prize for being realistic.

So now I choose wonder.

Not because I’m naïve.

Because I’m finally awake.

Seeing things as sacred doesn’t mean I’ve bypassed the bruises.

It means I’ve built a language for them.

It means I trust that pain doesn’t make me more “authentic” than peace.

And I no longer need suffering to validate my presence on this planet.

Some might say I live in cloud cuckoo land.

But honestly? That view is better than the prison of pessimism.

And I don’t live up there — I visit.

I bring what I find back to earth, and offer it as balm for the ones still burning.

Maybe I do self-soothe.

But isn’t that better than self-sabotage?

Maybe I do reframe with tenderness.

But isn’t that the most radical rebellion

in a world addicted to conflict?

And yes, I know —

this could all just be my subconscious connecting dots

that were never meant to meet.

But doesn’t that still tell me something sacred

about the way I’m wired to make meaning?

That’s why I fell in love with quantum theory.

Because it didn’t ask me to pick a side.

It explained the both-and I’d always felt.

The paradox. The pull. The place where wave meets particle

and everything becomes possible.

The woo-woo? That’s not an escape.

It’s the equal and opposite of conditioning.

And this life — this strange, sacred, human incarnation —

is the one where they get to meet.

We get to choose:

To live in one, the other, or become the bridge.

I choose balance.

Not perfection. Not performance.

Balance.

Feel it all.

Get to know it intimately.

Become obsessed with you.

And keep moving forward.

The same stuff will cycle again and again.

But each time, it lands with a little less weight.

A little more grace.

If it’s taken a connection to crystals, angels, channelling,

quantum consciousness and learning how to be unconditional love —

then I think that’s alright.

Actually, I think it’s kind of miraculous.

And I’ll still swear like a sailor.

Dance and tumble in a muddy field.

Speak before I think.

Laugh at my own chaos.

And fall off the pedestal every time someone tries to place me on it.

Because I’ve stood in both worlds.

I’ve cracked open in the light, and healed in the dark.

And I will always return to centre.

That’s 4D living.

The human who sees the matrix,

but chooses joy anyway.

So no, Doubt —

You’re not the villain.

But you don’t get to drive.

This life is mine.

And I’m not wasting another minute

wondering if wonder makes me weak.

With love from the sky and the soil,

— Me