Safety That Clings To My Bones: 10/24

From the journal October 2024:

The antidote to anxiety is not calm; it is safety. How curious, how painfully true. I sit here, fingers trembling over the keys, heart racing in a familiar cadence, a staccato rhythm of unease that thrums beneath my skin. I can feel it, that electric pulse of anxiety, coiling like a serpent in the pit of my stomach, whispering its relentless fears, its dark secrets. Calm feels like a distant shore, an unreachable dream, a mirage shimmering just beyond my grasp. 

What I crave, what I need, is safety. The kind of safety that wraps around me like a warm blanket, the kind that allows me to exhale, to release the tension that clings to my bones, to quiet the storm that rages in my mind. It is not the soothing balm of calm that stills the waters; it is the solid ground beneath my feet, the assurance that I am anchored, that I am secure in my own skin, in my own existence. 

I think of the moments when anxiety grips me, when the world feels like a precipice, and I am dangling over the edge, a tightrope walker without a net. It is in those moments that I realize how fragile my sense of safety is, how easily it can be shattered by the weight of expectation, by the piercing gaze of judgment, by the cacophony of voices that tell me I am not enough. 

I yearn for a sanctuary, a haven where my heart can rest, where my thoughts can unfold without fear of reprisal. I long for the safety that comes from understanding, from connection, from the knowledge that I am not alone in this tumultuous sea. It is a fragile thing, this safety, but it is essential—like air, like light, like the very essence of being. 

And so I search for it, in the pages of my journal, in the tender embrace of friends, in the quiet moments of solitude where I can breathe freely. I create my own safety, brick by brick, word by word, weaving a story of resilience that shields me from the onslaught of anxiety. 

I recognize that calm may never fully arrive; it flickers like a candle in the wind, elusive and fleeting. But safety, yes, safety can be cultivated, nurtured like a garden in the depths of winter. I can create boundaries, carve out spaces where I can exist without the weight of the world pressing down on me. I can invite safety into my life, mold it with my hands, fill it with the warmth of love, the comfort of honesty.

In this realization, I find a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light piercing through the haze of anxiety. I remind myself that it is not about banishing the fear, but about embracing the safety that allows me to coexist with it. I am a work in progress, an artist of my own making, forever crafting a space where my heart can beat freely, where my spirit can soar beyond the confines of worry.

And so I write, I breathe, I seek, knowing that the antidote to anxiety is not calm, but safety. It is a journey, a lifelong quest, and in that pursuit, I find a semblance of peace—a fragile, beautiful peace that allows me to face the world, to face myself, with courage and grace.