I read something beautiful today: the opposite of anxiety isn’t calm… it’s trust.
And for some reason, that sentence clicked something inside me. It’s only when I can trust life that calmness finds its way back to me.

I lost my trust in life decades ago. It didn’t disappear in one dramatic moment—it corroded, slowly, quietly, bit by bit. One day I looked inward and found nothing but rusty parts where trust used to be. And in that emptiness, my anxiety grew—huge and wild.

Anxiety, I later learned, needs to be fed. It survives on regrets, on blaming myself and others, on old fears I rehearsed again and again. And I kept feeding it. I fed it until it became so heavy, so enormous, that I couldn’t bear my own anxiety anymore.

And then I cracked.
And **that** was where the light entered—my little Carl Jung moment.

The moment I finally said, *“Fine. Be whatever you want to be,”* something shifted. When I stopped fighting it, my anxiety shrank. And in the hollow space it left behind, something new had the courage to grow: trust.

Since then, I’ve been practicing trust—slowly, gently—and I can feel myself becoming calmer and steadier every day. Yes, I still get anxious sometimes, but it’s tiny compared to the storms I used to carry.

And no, I haven’t “escaped” my life circumstances. The debts are still there, the challenges still real. But now I trust life—and this calmness is something life can’t take away. It stays with me, no matter what I’m facing.

This is the only life we have, my dear.
Trust it.
Trust is the quiet magnet that pulls all good things toward us.

Amen,

Karin Sabrina