Last July, I ordered a game table for what would be our new home. I chose a creator on Etsy with great reviews and paid for a custom table, anticipating delivery about eight weeks later.

I promise you that I’m not complaining about anything that followed, but your blood pressure may go up a little bit. Just keep breathing and know that things turn out fine.

After a couple of months, I realized I hadn’t heard from the creator, so I reached out on Etsy. I waited a week. No reply. I reached out again, waited another week. Crickets.

So, I “reported a problem with the order” on Etsy, and that got a reply from the creator. He apologized for being slow in getting back. A game café had ordered a large number of tables, and he was trying to complete that unexpected order. He was also going to be relocating much closer, so he’d be delivering my table personally when it was ready. That made sense, so I waited.

In early December, I reached out again to see where things were. An auto-reply told me that the Etsy store had temporarily closed as the creator worked on existing orders. Eventually, the seller responded that he’d be able to give me a clear time frame in a couple of weeks. The holidays came and went without further communication.  

In early February, after another round of gentle prompting, the seller said that he would be delivering the table within the next couple of weeks. In March, after more inquiries from me, the table would be ready the following weekend. In April, I impatiently sent a message that simply said, “This is getting ridiculous.”

But this week, I received a beautiful game table. Delivered personally by the very friendly creator. He isn’t great at communicating. Or estimating reasonable deadlines, apparently. But he really did craft a lovely and durable table.

Why am I telling you this story? The entire journey of this table has been a wrestling match between my anxiety and the person I most want to be in the world. A lot of the time, I was able to be patient. I trusted that the end result would be worth the wait.

But as time passed, my anxiety would poke its head up every once in a while and challenge my calm, patient trust. I’m getting taken advantage of. I deserve to be treated better. I’m being ignored. I’m being treated like I don’t matter. I don’t matter.

And there it was. One of the core beliefs I carry around—an irrational fear about myself that my inner child holds onto like a well-worn stuffed giraffe. I don’t matter.

Of course, that fear isn’t true. I wasn’t really being taken advantage of. I was in relationship with a person who had experienced unexpected success and setbacks, and his lack of communication stoked the fires of my anxiety. But none of that meant that he wasn’t ultimately going to follow through with his initial commitment to craft a fine table for me. I could still choose to be the calm, patient, trusting person I wanted to be.

In fact, his end of the relationship is a great lesson in why it’s important for us to give our word wisely and honestly, instead of just saying what we think will placate another person. Telling me that something would happen in a week made me calm down for the short-term, but when that week was up, my anxiety spiked again, and my trust for this person diminished. I can compassionately assume that he hasn’t yet done the personal work required to recognize that particular pattern, though.

Usually, I recognize my anxiety for what it is and manage it pretty well. Sometimes, because I’m human, my anxiety manages me. But I always have an opportunity to take back the reins. And this week, I have a table. The saga is concluded. And more than anything else, I feel gratitude.

Where does your fear prevent you from showing up the way you most want to? What core beliefs (I might even say false beliefs) about yourself and other people get in the way of living with integrity to your principles?