Anxiety, You Can Have Me—But You Can’t Have My Peace

Some nights are the hardest. Waking up gasping for air, feeling nauseous, as if the world is collapsing in on itself. It’s been like this ever since the day I found my pops. Losing him broke me in ways I never could have anticipated. The sight and smell of that moment still lingers, like an unwanted shadow that refuses to fade.

Grief and trauma aren’t easy to walk through. It’s like carrying a heavy load uphill with no end in sight. I praise God for giving my dad peace, knowing that he’s no longer in pain. But for me, peace feels distant, buried under layers of anxiety and sleepless nights.

Anxiety is real, and it has a way of creeping up on you when you least expect it, testing your faith, testing your strength. You think you’ve got a handle on it, practicing self-care, going through the motions, trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece. But some days, it feels like a façade. It feels like I’m faking my way through life, pretending to be okay while drowning on the inside.

That’s where I am right now, fighting to reconcile these two truths. One part of me is fighting, pushing through, embracing my journey of self-care. I meditate, I breathe deeply, I pray for peace. I take it one day at a time because that’s all I can do. But there’s another part of me that feels like I’m slipping, like the anxiety is winning, slowly stripping away the calm I’m trying so hard to cultivate.

But I refuse to give up. Anxiety can have my sleepless nights, but it can’t have my peace. It can make me feel scared, uncertain, but it can’t take my faith. I’m clinging to that faith, praying that God grants me the strength to move forward. I know this journey isn’t easy, and healing isn’t linear, but I have to trust that I’ll find my peace again. Maybe not today, but one day.

Until then, I’ll keep fighting. One day at a time.

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