I used to have to close my closet door every night before bed or I absolutely would not be able to sleep.
Then, somewhere along the way– after I traded in childhood trinkets for make-up and perfume, after the walls of my room were painted different colors, after new clothes hung on the shelves of my closet–closing my door before bed was no longer a routine.
And it’s not that I started leaving it open because I realized how ridiculous my fear was.
In fact, I didn’t even realize I had been leaving it open until my mother mentioned it to me.
Then, and only then, did I realize how silly it was that I was so crippled by something that now had no hold over my life.
But oh, look at all the closet doors I have in my life that I have to shut every evening.
What strange hope there is to think that there will come a day when I will leave them open and not even notice the pain is gone until someone points it out to me.
I wonder how silly I’ll feel then for letting my pain hold me still in one place for now.