For most of January, I’ve been riding this growing wave of self-empowerment.

Hyping myself up for MORE, running after my healing, and truly starting to believe in myself again for, maybe, the first time in over a year.

I’d been transforming more and more into my true and authentic self and it felt so good. 

Which is why I was so eager to escape to LA on Friday for an overnight half work-half play trip with my colleagues and friends. I woke up on Friday morning, READY for whatever God had waiting for me in that convention center. I’d shared a conversation with my mom that morning about finding more moments of joy in my days, as stress had began to manifest in various ways in my body and my anxiety was increasing as I took note of its effect. Find more joy. Got it! I put her encouragement in my pocket, grabbed my duffle bag, my backpack, my water bottle, jacket and keys and headed out to round up my road trip buddies.

When I turned away from the front door and towards my car…my car wasn’t there.

I stopped.

I stared.

I rewound time in my head to pinpoint the last time I was in the same location as my car.Yesterday, 6:00pm. I’d cleaned my car out, for the most part, and prepared it for guests. Then I went in the house, only to return 14 hours later to an empty space on the street. I snapped back from my daze and realized my reality: my car was stolen.

Now I’d walked out of my house so many times in the last few years and briefly panicked that my car had been stolen, only to realize (in those mini flashback moments) that I’d parked it in a different spot, or around the corner, etc. How I so wished this was another one of those mistakes. But it wasn’t. 

And that was confirmed when my mom, very swiftly, remembered the tracking system on my vehicle. One search and we learned the car was across the border and likely never to return. For the next couple of hours, my house became a dispatch center – my mom on her phone connecting with insurance and Starguard, and me on mine, connecting with the police department and my boss and co-workers.

While we were on the phone, the neighbor popped over and shared his camera footage from early Friday morning. And with my very own eyes, I watched the recorded events happen and became sick to my stomach.

Safety has been a topic that’s come up multiple times a week for the last 2-3 months. When I refer to it, it tends to center around a lack of safety, emotionally, from certain people in my family. Or sometimes a lack of safety, spiritually, in certain areas outside of the home. My personal lack of safety wasn’t one that had necessarily felt threatened…until Friday. 

Sure, having your car stolen SUCKS. And sure, there are a handful of items I regret leaving in my car and desperately want to get back. But to see video footage of your car being targeted and taken from in front of your own home is a violating feeling. And while there may be anger and frustration, sadness and grief inside somewhere, what has overwhelmed me is a narrative that I’m unsafe in my own home.

A paranoia that my home is a target, and that this will happen again.

An even deeper breakdown of trust in people. 

If fear was my stronghold before, what will it become now?

As I drove home from LA Saturday night, my heart rate beginning to increase with every mile I inched closer to home, I thought about my business. About how necessary it is to have a space for women to feel safe – emotionally, spiritually, PHYSICALLY. About how vital it is to teach women, and encourage them, to take the time needed to let feelings pass through. To grieve, while still having honor. To celebrate, while trauma still lives within. To hold space for the good, the bad and the ugly and to realize one pretty world-rocking thing: That the God who created this entire universe has you, your story, your feelings, your tears and your triumphs in the palm of His hand.

He sees you.

He’s got you.

You are safe in Him.