I think I lived as a thief for many years. Not because I stole an occasional candy bar from the grocery store or lifted jewelry from my friends home when she wasn’t looking! No, I stole from myself. Every time I aided and abetted anxiety I robbed myself of peace, security and contentment.
A few days ago, I was sitting across from Kim, the most amazing nail tech, who has done my nails for the past ten years. And, she gasps, “What is that on your arm? I’ve never seen it before. You need to get that looked at!”
I had no idea what she was talking about so I asked her.
“A mole,” she said, “it’s just come up in the last two weeks because I know I have never seen it before.”
She, then, took my free hand and dragged my finger across the top of the tiny bumpy mass.