Sam stretched beneath the warm covers, feeling the peaceful promise of a new day. But as the sunlight crept across the floor, something new drifted in—Worry, a tiny, curious cloud.
No one saw Worry arrive. It didn’t knock or call out. Yet, there it was, hovering gently, waiting to be noticed.
At first, Worry was small, floating like a soft puff in the morning light. It leaned in, its little mouth forming words only Sam could hear. "What if something goes wrong today?"
A funny feeling stirred—a wiggle in the tummy, a tightness in the chest. Sam felt her heart beat a bit faster, pausing to notice. "Something is showing up," Sam whispered.
Worry swelled a little, growing more visible and bold. "What if no one plays with you? What if you make a mistake?" it asked, its wide eyes shining with concern.
Worry loved questions—especially the “what if” kind. The room filled with their soft echoes, swirling around Sam’s head. It was hard to know which stories were true.
Then Sam remembered something important. "Worry tells stories… but stories are not always true," Sam thought, looking straight at Worry.
"I hear you," Sam said gently, acknowledging Worry without fear.
Sam stood very still and took a slow breath in, feeling the cool air fill her lungs. Then, a long breath out—soft and even. Another breath followed, slower still.
With each breath, Sam’s body began to settle. The tightness faded, and her heartbeat slowed. Calmness returned to the room.
Worry noticed the change. Its fluffy form shrank a bit, and its voice was softer, uncertain.
"But what if something bad happens?" Worry tried once more, its eyes wide and searching.
Sam thought for a moment and replied, "Maybe… and maybe not," offering both hope and honesty.
Stretching arms up high, then down low, Sam did a yoga stretch. The floor beneath felt steady, and the air was clear. "Right now, everything is okay," she said.
Worry tried to get bigger—gathering up all its “what ifs”—but Sam was ready.
Sam splashed cool water on her face. "Whoa!" she gasped, feeling the refreshing jolt.
That helped. Worry shrank a little more—not gone, but definitely smaller.
Worry was just a cloud, moving across the sky of Sam’s morning. Not here to stay.
Sam noticed the room was still there. The day was waiting, open and bright.
"Worry can come," Sam said, "but it doesn’t get to stay forever." Worry drifted softly, smaller and quieter.
Worry was just passing through, gentle and harmless, like a thought you let go.
"Even when Worry shows up… I know what to do," Sam said, feeling proud and calm.
The sun felt warm. The day felt open to new possibilities. And just like that, Sam’s day began.
Worry drifted along, soft and light, fading into the bright morning.
