From Sand and Ash

by Amy Harmon

Fear is strange. It settles on chests and seeps through skin, through layers of tissue, muscle, and bone, and collects in a soul-size black hole, sucking the joy out of life, the pleasure, the beauty. But not the hope. Somehow, the hope is the only thing resistant to the fear, and it is that hope that makes the next breath possible, the next step, the next tiny act of rebellion, even if that rebellion is simply staying alive.

I highlighted this passage because I think it describes how fear feels in a visceral manner. I am grateful to be reminded of this so I can consciously make the choice to not sit and stew in fear.