Milo stood in front of the mirror, clutching their favorite blue scarf. As they took a deep breath, a tiny gray cloud hovered near their shoulder—almost invisible, yet very much there. The cloud murmured softly, its voice curling through the quiet room.
"What if you don’t make any friends? What if you get lost?"
Milo blinked, feeling their stomach twist as the worry grew just a little bigger.
Milo tried to ignore the worry as they munched on breakfast, but its whispers became louder, echoing in their mind. Each "what if" made the air seem thicker, and the room a bit smaller. Their parent smiled reassuringly, but Milo hesitated to speak, feeling the worry nudge at their thoughts.
Milo felt the worry tug at them with every step. The more they tried to pretend it wasn’t there, the more it seemed to grow, its whispers weaving through the autumn air.
"What if you say the wrong thing? What if you forget your teacher’s name?"
Milo squeezed their scarf tighter, wishing the worry would just go away.
Milo placed a hand on their chest, feeling their heartbeat slow. They named the feeling—"worry"—silently, and whispered to themselves.
"I feel worried because everything is new. That’s okay."
With each breath and gentle word, the worry shrank a little, its whispers fading to a gentle hum.
Milo finally spoke up, voice small but steady.
"I felt a worry today. It kept asking ‘what if’ about everything."
Their parent listened closely, nodding and squeezing Milo’s hand.
"Worries are part of caring," they said softly. "They don’t have to go away for you to feel brave."
Milo smiled, the last of the worry’s whispers barely a tickle in the air.
Milo remembered the gentle breathing, the naming of feelings, and the warmth of talking to someone they trust. The worry had not disappeared, but it was quiet now—no longer in charge. As Milo drifted to sleep, they understood something important: worries don’t mean something is wrong—they mean you care.
