safe space

I am afraid of death. I am afraid of sickness. And I am afraid of losing my loved ones.

I thought I was doing well, until my body caved and I found myself in a hospital bed, being told I have hypertension, diabetes, and I need to do something about my health. Suddenly all of my fears came crashing on me.

The night before being rushed to the hospital I thought I was having another panic attack. I was shivering, my blood pressure was high, my sugar higher, muscles all clenched, I was doing deep breathing exercises thinking it would make it all go away. But it didn’t. I only slept through the night and woke up feeling worse. When faced with your own mortality, after having gone through so much loss - from my parents, to my 2 babies, and recently, my aunt, my mind and my body didn’t not know what to do and went crashing down.

I thought to myself I am safe in the hospital, but why am I anxious? What am I so worried about? My vitals were getting better but my mind is telling me a million other things. Every time a doctor came in to tell me about the state of my body, and that I needed to drastically do something, I dive into another bout of anxiety. Keeping it to myself. Doing my usual cold compress, or hot compress, just to snap right back. Even typing this right now is making my hands clammy. I am full but I am thinking instead, is my heart okay? Am I having chest pains? I feel a bit woozy, am I dizzy? Every single thing you can imagine that I can think of, I think of it.

So here I am writing it down in the hopes of dumping all my anxiety, sadness, grief, away.

So let me go through this dark hole in this piece I am writing so that I can finally get into the end of the tunnel and see the light. Maybe then, I can see (or define) my safe space.

I HATE HOSPITALS. But I know I have to go there so I can be better. But maybe, my mind knows, that none of the people I love who ended up in hospitals were saved. I was saved every single time but none of them were. I learned about my mom’s cancer in the hospital. In the same hospital I was just in. I remember very clearly my sisters telling me that the cyst they found in her kidney was cancerous, and that we should prepare for chemotherapy. I was crushed and heartbroken. I could not believe my mom, of all people. It was also during that time I refused to pray the Lord’s Prayer. How can I finish it? How can I surrender to His will? How can I say “Thy will be done.”? I would have to admit that during that time I lost a big chunk of my faith because of the fear of losing my mother. After two years, I did. And it was one of the worst pains I have ever experienced in my life. How can God take away my mother, a very good woman - loving, kind, generous, and warm. How can we possibly continue to live without her? I was crushed but I hid all my pain in my work and kept on going.

A year after my mother left us, my father was diagnosed with the same cancer she was diagnosed with. It was then that I realized, you can actually get sick from a broken heart. My father loved my mother with all his heart. He did not stop telling me he missed her every chance he gets. He cried on his knees telling me he had nobody because my mom was gone. I was crushed. When he had cancer, he begged us not to have chemo anymore, and I begged him to stay with me a little longer. He asked me to let him go. I could see how much he was suffering, I held on to his hand tight, and I told him if he was tired, it was okay to go to sleep. But my heart knew I could not really let go.

The next year, I lost Bjorn. 13 weeks into the pregnancy, I just lost him. I wrote about him and detailed all my pains there. He taught me to love myself, so I did. Slowly I learned to love myself. And I dived into depression and anxiety years after I lost him. I sought help, I gained new friends, I made a new life, but I also slowly buried all my pains instead of facing them. I tried escaping. Until this year, I lost Rye. 6 weeks and a half into the pregnancy, I though I only needed two weeks more and she would be safe. But my body failed me, and I felt I have failed her. I heard her cry. I heard her struggle for breath. I heard them trying to save her… and I heard silence. When everything was silent, I knew she was gone. She stayed with us 1 hour and 39 minutes to tell me to surrender everything. And I did.

Rye’s death has resurrected my love and faith in God. I began to really pray again. I began to believe in Him. I began to think He has a higher purpose for me. It is funny though how our mind works - it insists that we are fine. It protects us from pain and we move on pretending that we are already better, than we have surpassed the worse, that we can get better on our own.

God has other plans, I guess. So He gave me this so I focus on my heart and look within. Not to punish me, but to put me back on track and really heal me.

My faith isn’t as strong as some people I know. I envy them. I wish I had the same steadfast faith in God. But I know I do love God with all my heart. And I do know I want to do better. And He is my only safe space. A friend once told me that you can’t be truly free from worries unless you have completely surrendered to God. Does that mean that I have not surrendered to him?

As I write this piece I realize I want this to be my declaration.

GOD IS MY SAFE SPACE. He really is. He knows me. He sees my fears, my worries, and everything I hold dear. He knows I am struggling, and He continues to be faithful. He is just waiting for me. I don’t own my life, He does. And he is the only one who can take it, and can direct me where to go and what to do. He is my refuge. He is my rock. My sickness and my anxiety is nothing compared to God. I know I will need help. And I know He is sending me help - through his angels, through people He has blessed me with, through family and friends who have stood by my side all these years. THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR.

What can go wrong? Death? I fear death but everyone is bound to die. Should God take me, I can only hope I am ready to face Him. I want to be with Him in His Kingdom. I know there I will see my babies and my parents again.

When anxiety strikes, I cannot do anything but ride along with it instead of fighting it. When I have a panic attack, I have to embrace it and go through it. No amount of pills, or mind-talking can be greater than a reassuring God.

Psalm 1:39 teaches us to surrender to God. My daughter, Rye Mikaela, lived and fought for 1 hour and 39 minutes to remind me that. God has plans for me. This cannot be the end of me. God wants me to do more and be more, He wants me to serve Him.

Lord, build your safe space around me so you can use me for your glory. Amen.