CRASHING WAVES: NAVIGATING ANXIETY & GRIEF WITH (MOSTLY) MY BREATH INTACT
Preface to the Preface
This past weekend, my husband hosted an event called A Space for Words, where poets, writers, authors, and even musicians come together to share their work. I’ve been writing poetry since high school, but I’ve never felt comfortable enough to read my own poems in a space like that. Honestly, I wasn’t even planning to this time.
But as I scrolled through my phone that evening, searching for anything I’d saved, the only two poems I could find were about deeply personal topics. One was about not being able to have children, and the other was about explaining how anxiety feels in the moment—a piece called Crashing Waves.
I decided to go for it.
When I walked up to the mic, my three-year-old niece (my biggest fan, clearly) yelled out, “That’s my Titi!” (Titi in Spanish means Aunty) The room burst into laughter, and for a moment, the nerves melted away. That little moment of love and support reminded me why sharing matters.
Grief and anxiety are especially poignant during the holidays. They can creep up unexpectedly, leaving us feeling untethered. I hope that by sharing this piece, you’ll feel less alone—and that the practices I’ve included can offer a little light in the storm.
Storytime: [Poem’s inspiration]
It was February 2019, and I was in full-blown anxiety mode. My hands were clammy, my chest tight, and my breath was doing this erratic stop-and-go thing, like the MTA on a bad day. It was the day before my mom’s third death anniversary, and the grief was hitting me hard.
To really understand why, you’d need the full backstory—a series of traumas that could fill a Netflix limited series. In September 2015, my mom’s cancer came back. Around the same time, I underwent a breast reduction surgery that left me without a nipple. My mom passed away in February 2016, and around those dates, life came at me like a wrecking ball. Both of my dogs passed away a month apart, we totaled our car, the apartment we planned to move into was infested with bugs, I lost my job, and somewhere in the chaos, I lost my mind.
By June 2016, I had started talk therapy, adding it to my existing daily practice of meditation, yoga, dancing and journaling. These tools helped me get through the days, but they weren’t enough to fully address the tangled mess of grief and trauma I was carrying. It felt like I was trying to patch up a ship while it was still being tossed around in a storm.
That day in 2019, overwhelmed by the waves of anxiety and sadness, I sat down and wrote this poem, Crashing Waves. It was my way of finding a lifeline—a small moment to hold myself together when it felt like everything was falling apart.
Crashing Waves
My breath ripples like waves crashing into shore
with each crash, a ripple is coming right behind it with intense fury, an anxious break.
As I try to catch my breath,
my hands catch on fire, moisture builds up like a warm humid NYC sunny day.
My breath continues to try and slow down.
My self-sabotaging, inner critic voice is rejoicing and praising and wordsmithing all my positive thoughts with negative talk, slurs, and pure erratic disruption.
Can I trust this part of myself, I ask?
My voice says... breathe, slow down, breathe
My thoughts, here comes another wave and more sun
My voice, I love youMy voice, you’re perfect
My thoughts, you’re safe...
The waves are still strong...My breath
My breath becomes louder
Finally, my voice and breath unite.
BREAK
My hands become sources of light and energy and I’m connecting to myself…
My hands slowly stop sweatingI’m here...
My voice, my breath, my hands become my own again.
Breathe, breathe, I can hear myself…
My hands... I feel myself…
My sun... I see myself…
I’m here, Jessica, I’m right here.
Jessica Diana
To Those in the Waves
If you’re in the waves right now—whether they’re waves of grief, anxiety, or both—I want you to know this: you are not alone. The waves can feel overwhelming, like they’ll never stop crashing, but they will. And while they do, there are ways to honor where you are, release what needs releasing, thank the teachings and find moments of connection and calm.
Here are some sacred grief and release practices that have helped me—and might help you, too.
Sacred Grief Journal Prompts
Name the Wave: What is the wave you’re currently riding? Is it grief, anxiety, anger, or something else entirely? Describe how it feels in your body.
Dialogue with the Wave: If this wave could speak, what would it say to you? If you could respond, what would you say back?
Anchor in Gratitude: Even in this moment of heaviness, what are three things you can be grateful for?
Release the Weight: What is one thing you’re holding onto that you’re ready to release? Write it down, then let it go—tear up the page, burn it (safely), or imagine it dissolving.
Connect to Your Strength: Reflect on a time you overcame a challenge. What strength within you carried you through? How can you tap into that strength now?
Embodiment Practices
Breath Anchoring: Place one hand on your heart and the other on your belly. Breathe deeply into your hands, feeling the rise and fall. With each exhale, imagine the waves of anxiety or grief leaving your body.
Grounding Movement: Stand with your feet hip-width apart. Slowly sway side to side like a wave, feeling your feet firmly rooted to the ground. Let your arms flow with the movement, releasing tension.
Heart-Opening Gesture: Sit comfortably, roll your shoulders back, and place your hands over your heart. Gently rub your chest in circular motions as you whisper, “I am safe. I am here.”
Release Dance: Put on a song that moves you, and let your body express what words cannot. Whether it’s tears, stomps, or graceful movements, let it flow.
Visualization: Close your eyes and imagine yourself standing on a shore. Watch the waves crash and retreat. With each retreating wave, imagine it carrying away some of your heaviness, leaving you lighter and more grounded.
Anointing Yourself with Your Tears: Find a quiet space where you feel safe and comfortable, and settle into a relaxed position with your hands on your heart or lap. Take a few deep breaths to center yourself and give yourself permission to cry, allowing any emotions—whether sadness, frustration, or overwhelm—to flow freely without judgment. As your tears fall, notice their warmth, coolness, or heaviness on your skin, and feel your body softening with the release. Gently collect some of your tears on your fingertips and anoint yourself with them, placing them on your forehead, heart, or temples as a sacred reminder of their healing power. Breathe deeply, reflecting on the release and feeling gratitude for your vulnerability and strength. Close the practice by placing your hands over your heart and affirming, "I am worthy of my own tenderness. I honor my emotions and embrace my healing." This simple act honors the power of your tears and nurtures your journey of self-compassion and healing.
Riding the Waves Together
The waves of grief and anxiety may never fully disappear, but you don’t have to face them alone. Healing isn’t about silencing the waves; it’s about learning to listen to them, to honor their presence, and to trust that calmer waters will follow.
Wherever you are in your journey, I’m here, holding space for you with compassion, humor, and a little light to guide the way. If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts—or hold space for your story.
You are not alone.
Con mucho amor y luz,
Jessica Diana
