Today, I killed a bee.

A wasp, actually.

It had accidentally wandered into my bedroom and was being chased by both of my cats, Colby and Brie. So I got up, grabbed my shoe, and gave it a smack.

Done.

Now, you might be thinking, Big deal.

But for me, it was.

There was a time when I would have completely and utterly panicked, refusing to go back into the room until I had solid proof of a carcass. In fact, I distinctly remember locking my dad in my bedroom when I was 9 years old and refusing to go back in until he could prove he had killed the bee that had wandered inside.

Or the time I was working in a veterinary hospital and my boss came out of an exam room to find me shooting at the sink from about eight feet away with a bottle of cleaning sanitizer. She looked at me, looked at the sink (and the eight feet of soaking wet floor in between), and asked what I was doing.

"There was an earwig in the sink," I said.

She blinked, walked over, turned on the tap, washed the earwig down the drain, and casually walked back into her exam room.

It's funny now in hindsight, but at the time I was mortified.

Suffice it to say, me and bugs have a long history.

In fact, not many people know this, but what first got me into the work I do today was not to heal the anxiety, the depression, or the hopelessness I had felt about life. At that point, I was used to all of that. I'd been made to believe it would never get any better, so I had made peace with it. I wasn't really searching for help anymore.

But then all of the anxiety started coming out in strange, weird little ways.

Odd little habits.

Tapping.

Repetitions.

Rituals.

But I still carried on because I thought I had to.

Then the anxiety started manifesting as a phobia of bugs.

And it got bad.

Like, I started having a hard time leaving the house bad.

Like, friends would come over and sit on the patio while I stayed inside and talked to them through the screen door bad.

So I actually went to my coach (shout out to the awesome Vanessa Long! 💛) because of my phobia of insects.

And somehow, in that very first session, she nailed what 13 years of therapy and a degree in psychology had never even come close to.

She told me she could help me.

No one had ever said that to me before.

I didn't believe her.

Not for a second.

But I was out of options. I couldn't leave the house, and she was the first person who actually seemed to understand what was happening.

A few months later, not only was my phobia of insects gone, but so was the voice in my head that told me I wasn't good enough.

Wasn't worthy.

Wasn't lovable.

Was broken.

And yet here I am - stronger than before.

​So while today was "just" killing a bug, it was also a reminder of how far I have come. A reminder of the incredible capacity we all have to heal, even when we feel utterly broken.

Today, I am grateful for everyone who has been part of my healing journey.

And today, I'm even grateful for the little wasp...

Even if I did smack him with my shoe.

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