Learning Grace in the Waiting

by Iya Omi  — Sacred Tides Series: Discovery, Part II

Opening Reflection

There are moments in life when even the strongest among us find ourselves sitting in silence, waiting for answers.
Waiting for the phone call.
Waiting for the results.
Waiting for the next breath to feel normal again.

This week, I found myself there — twice.
First for a biopsy on my cervix, then for a deeper look at a mass in my breast.

I was not fine.
I hate waiting — especially for answers of this magnitude.
I didn’t sleep through the night for two weeks. Even though I knew the possibility of benign results was high, my mind kept drifting back to the what if.

The waiting was working me.
By Thursday, I was already exhausted — physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

The Breaking Point

On Thursday, as I sat in the waiting room for my breast imaging, I realized how heavy silence can be.

I went alone.
Part of me wished I had called someone to come with me, but another part needed quiet — time to process what might come before I had to answer questions I didn’t have answers to.

I told myself it was strength, that I’d rather face it alone than feel the weight of someone else’s worry.
But hindsight? Maybe I should’ve had someone there — to keep my mind from spinning, to remind me to breathe, to make me laugh, to pull me back into the moment instead of the what-ifs.

As they called me back for more imaging — once, twice, three times — the walls of composure started to crack.
By the third time, I broke.

Lying on the table with my hand over my eyes, I tried to push the tears back.
My mind began writing every story possible — the call to my family, the questions my husband would ask that I couldn’t answer.

When they finally said, “We’ll see you next year,” I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted — not just physically, but emotionally.
So, I did something I hadn’t done in a while:
I bought a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy.

And yes, I chose it for the name. I ate the whole damn pint.

It was comfort. It was rebellion. It was surrender.
I didn’t shame myself for it. I didn’t spiral.
I let it serve its purpose — and when it was done, I felt satisfied.

The Morning After

After my breast exam, I could not allow myself to really be excited. I still had to wait for the results of my cervical biopsy — but I did allow my mind to start leaning more on not having cancer than on the probability that I did. As soon as I walked in the house, I fell before my shrines giving thanks!

It’s strange how relief and anxiety can exist in the same body. I let myself breathe easier for a moment, but the worry still hummed beneath the surface. I kept reminding myself: one thing at a time.

Still, I decided that if my body was safe in this moment, then my spirit deserved a small peace offering.
I gave myself permission to rest and had planned to go to my godmother’s house for class.

But as I was getting ready to leave, a family emergency hit — one that I won’t go into because I’m still working through it.
I decided to stay home.

I had to sit down and have a serious conversation with my adult daughters.
I had to find a way to deal with my own anxiety so that I didn’t let it turn into arguments or frustration.
So, I prayed. I meditated. I breathed through it.

And to be honest, prayer and meditation didn’t immediately wash the stress away.
They didn’t silence the anxiety or dissolve the anger in an instant.
But they gave me something just as powerful — the ability to keep checking myself instead of lashing out, to pause before I spoke, and to choose peace over reaction.

I reached out to my godmother to let her know what was happening.
She’s a praying woman — and knowing that her prayers were covering me added strength to my own.

I didn’t deny myself the right to feel anger, frustration, fear, or anxiety.
I just focused on not letting those emotions rule me.
I didn’t suppress what I felt; I redirected it.
My prayer and meditation weren’t about pushing the feelings down — they were about guiding them toward clarity, toward strategy, toward calm.

As I moved through this new wave of stress, the results finally came in.
My cervix was also benign.

Something inside me finally released.
All the stress, all the tension, all the weight I’d been carrying — it began to loosen its grip.
For the first time that week, I could truly exhale.

For some reason, having that issue resolved helped me see this new family challenge differently. The fear lost its weight. The stress faded. I began to see it not as a crisis, but as an opportunity to reorganize and rise.

The weight on the scale the next morning didn’t matter.
The number didn’t define the victory.
It was my ability to stay gentle while standing in uncertainty that told me: I’m growing.

The Relief and the Revelation

After my breast exam came back benign, I let myself breathe for the first time all week.
For days, I’d been holding my breath — waiting on one result while still carrying the weight of another. The cervical biopsy results hadn’t come in yet, but with this bit of good news, I finally allowed myself to think positively about what might be next.

When the call came Friday afternoon, I opened the report and tried to make sense of the medical language. I didn’t understand every word, but I understood the one that mattered: benign.
Line after line — benign.

And in that moment, I felt the heaviness lift.

I’m still managing prediabetes and high cholesterol, yes, but those are challenges I can meet head-on. They feel manageable.
Cancer, though — even with all the incredible treatments available — has always sounded to me like an instant death sentence.
So seeing benign written over and over felt like Spirit whispering, “Not this time, beloved. Breathe.”

I don’t know what the outcome of this new family challenge will be, and honestly, I’m not even sure if missing class that day was the right decision. But what I do know is that I’m ready to face it — calmly, strategically, and prayerfully. I know it will still carry its own stresses as we move through the process, but I also know I can’t afford to stop moving forward.

It would be easy to say that I “always make it through,” but that’s not the whole truth. The truth is, for everything I’ve been through in my life, I’ve been carried by a spiritual army — ancestors, guides, and unseen hands — working for me even when I didn’t know it. That realization, more than anything, is the blessing.

That was my miracle for the week — not perfection, but permission to rest in gratitude.

The Lesson: Life Will Keep Being Life

Life will keep handing us moments we didn’t plan for — biopsies, imaging, uncertainty, and tears.
And sometimes, we’ll reach for ice cream.
Not because we’ve failed, but because we’re feeling.

We are not on a diet. We are not being restrictive.
We are on a journey — learning to feel without fear, to process without shame.

We are allowing ourselves to experience every emotion without judgment.
We are learning how to let our feelings work for us, not against us.

We are learning balance.
We are learning to give ourselves grace instead of guilt.

There will be moments of “chocolate therapy,” and that’s okay.
Because when you know you’re on a path of healing — body, mind, and spirit — one pint of ice cream isn’t failure.
It’s just a pause in the process.

The Ongoing Work

Even now, I’m still navigating some challenges around my family’s stability.
But this time, I don’t feel consumed by stress — I feel strategic.

I’m learning that faith doesn’t mean doing nothing; it means staying grounded while taking aligned action.
So, I keep doing the work.
I allow things to flow as they should, but I also create a plan that keeps me prepared.

Why am I sharing this? Because spirituality and growth aren’t about perfection.
They don’t make you immune to anger, fear, or pain.
They simply give you the tools to recover — to check yourself, to realign, and to learn.

Even when I slip, and I surely will, I have what I need to find my way back.

That’s the power of healing — not the absence of struggle, but the ability to navigate it with wisdom and grace.

Closing Reflection

Gentleness is a practice.
So is resilience.
Some days, they’re the same thing.

I got a clean bill of health — no cancer, no fear.
But even if the results had been different, the lesson would be the same:
Treat your body like sacred ground, especially when it’s scared.

Because healing isn’t only what happens after the storm.
It’s what happens when you decide to love yourself in the middle of it.

Author’s Note

Iya Omi  is an Iyanifa and Priestess of Yemoja.
She is a womb worker, herbalist, Reiki master, and meditation teacher dedicated to helping others reconnect with the divine within. Through her Sacred Tides writings and services, she explores the intersections of wellness, spirit, and womanhood—reminding readers that the body itself is holy ground.