As I laid in my bed attempting to drift into sleep, I couldn’t fight this feeling in the pit of my stomach - like the heaviest piece of cement anchoring my body down into the floorboard beneath me. I placed my hand over my heart, attempting to calm the familiar flutter of anxiety that seemed to be my new nightly companion these days. I’ve become accustomed to sleeping with one hand over my heart and one hand over my womb space - as a sort of grounding, protective motion.