on safety the narrative (750 words or so) the first time I became conscious of my fear of the details that we've addressed thus far. The essay ends with a depiction of how I make myself feel protected, with attention paid to detail
When dread first gripped my heart, I was a child—innocent, naive, and blissfully unaware of the world's darker shades. It was a rainy night, with rain pelting against the windows like impatient fingers demanding entry. The roaring wind created an unsettling symphony that resonated through the halls of our old house. Huddled behind my blankets, I felt the darkness creep in, the shadows turning into imagined monsters.
Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the chamber in dazzling brilliance before returning it to darkness. Thunder roared, shaking the very foundation of my being. In that instant, I felt a primal terror flood through me—fear of the unknown, of forces beyond my control.
The electricity flickered briefly before succumbing to the storm's fury, plunging the house into a pitch-black abyss. My pulse pounded like a wild stallion, and the creak of the old wooden flooring felt like a frightening whisper. The comfort of familiarity was snatched away, leaving me trapped in a world full of invisible dangers.
I took sanctuary in my parents' room, navigating the corridor as if I were walking through a nightmare. Their presence provided peace, a ray of hope amidst the storm. Curling up between them, I felt the warmth of their embrace and their murmured assurances calm the storm inside me.
In the years that followed, dread took many forms, including dark alleys at night, the uncertainty of new beginnings, and the fear of failure. However, I learned to navigate these shadows, to use dread as a warning rather than an immobilizing force.
To feel protected, I retreat into the comforting embrace of solitude. My sanctuary's calm nooks provide me with solace. Soft, muted light streams through transparent curtains, creating delicate shadows that dance across the wall. The aroma of lavender lingers in the air, a soothing salve that relieves the stress on my shoulders.
Surrounded by shelves decorated with cherished books, each page a sanctuary in its own right, I settle into a well-worn armchair. A cup of boiling herbal tea nestled between my palms emanates warmth, a welcome respite from the chill that occasionally sneaks in.
The faint sound of instrumental music, a tune without lyrics, wraps around me like a familiar hug, cocooning me in its peaceful embrace. It's a serenity symphony, a reminder that even in the middle of chaos and uncertainty, there remains a safe haven—a place where anxiety gives way to tranquility.
Here, safety is more than just the absence of dread; it's a haven I've built from shards of familiarity and peace. The details—the smooth textures, calm melodies, and comforting scents—are my fortifications against life's tempests. And within this haven, I negotiate the ebbs and flows, accepting fear as a reminder to treasure the haven I've built, to take consolation in the sanctuary of my own making.
