I’m a worrier. I’ve never really liked that about myself. It feels like a weakness.
An ugly word stronger people somehow avoid.
When I met my husband I was instantly intrigued by three words he often spoke.
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My husband was ‘the non-worrier.’
The antithesis of the very thing I disliked about myself. To say it was attractive would be an understatement.
I marvelled at his ability to simply not care. It sounded like pure bliss. An emotional euphoria I could only dream of experiencing.
I would never be anything like this.
So the next best thing would be to latch onto this detached Goliath.
And each time he spoke, I was more certain of it.
“I don’t care,” he would say.
And the more he said those three words, the sexier he became.
Really? Is it even possible to not care? How does one not care? Teach me. Please!
And while I could not be taught, he did ‘free’ me from time to time. By adding a fourth word that allowed a worrier a short reprieve.