I keep a strand of mala beads hanging in my kitchen. I have this plan in my head most of the time that when I get up in the morning and as I am making my husband’s coffee I am going to grab the strand, place it around my neck, and say my affirmations 108 times. Most of the time it doesn’t actually work out like that. Grabbing them from their little nail feels like too much, so I just glance at them and carry on with what I am doing. Something about having them occupying my hands is too much. I need my hands for so many things that I just can’t give them up for the few minutes that it would take to say whatever my mantra is 108 times.
The truth is that that probably means I should slow my life down or something. That I am keeping myself too busy if I can’t even take three minutes to repeat something and glide my hands along the beads. I used to feel guilty about it in some way. As if my inability to make that perfect moment happen every morning was some sort of moral failure on my part. And then over time I realized that the simple glance at the beads was actually doing the work that I needed it to.
When a Simple Reminder Becomes a Grounding Practice
Looking at the beads became the intention-setting action. Instead of sitting down and saying, “I am safe” 108 times as I held the beads in my hands, the beads hanging there on my kitchen wall became the constant reminder that I am safe in my space and my home. They became the grounding piece for my intention throughout the day. They gave my mind an anchor point to hold onto when life tried to throw me for a loop.
Just seeing them in the morning placed the thought of “I am safe” into my mind. And as I went throughout my day I would come back to that mantra. Sometimes by placing my hand on my chest and taking a deep breath. Sometimes repeating the phrase to myself. Sometimes by acknowledging my heart racing or the anxious thoughts in my mind. The beads didn’t have to be with me to be a part of my day. To be that steady reminder. Their simple existence in the world was enough.
The Fear That Followed Cancer Treatment
After cancer treatment I was so afraid a lot of the time. It felt like the undercurrent in everything that I was doing. This little question always in the back of my mind. Wondering if and when something bad was going to happen. It started to darken my interactions and felt like my mind was constantly catastrophizing everything. There was no bright side, only the possibility that everything could go from bad to worse. Because I had experienced that before. Cancer had taken my security and given me fear in its place.
Cancer left me wondering if I would ever feel safe again. Like I had lost my anchor and was adrift in a chaotic sea of never-ending waves. I wanted to find my way back to the shore, but I wasn’t sure how.
And then I found my mala beads again. They hadn’t gone anywhere. They were hanging in the same spot they had always been.
But something about physically taking them from the wall felt easier. More purposeful.
It felt like the grounding, anchoring piece that I needed in my life. The gift of time and peaceful moments of repetition.
Using Mala Beads to Find My Way Back to the Present
So I started repeating, “I am safe.”
Not every morning. But when it felt like I needed it.
When my mind felt like it was racing and more anxious than my breath could manage I would grab the beads and toss them around my neck. Just the weight of them sometimes was enough. Other times moving them through my hands was what I needed. And a few times I needed the full 108 cycles of “I am safe” to ground me in the belief that I am truly safe in this space and time and that everything isn’t about to crumble beneath me.
What "I Am Safe" Really Means to Me
“I am safe” doesn’t mean that I believe nothing bad will ever happen to me again.
I don’t think I can believe that anymore.
I know too much now. I know that sometimes the test comes back with the answer you were terrified of. Sometimes the phone rings. Sometimes your whole life changes between one breath and the next.
Cancer took away my ability to believe that I could somehow guarantee my own safety. But I don’t think that’s what I’m trying to get back anymore. When I say, “I