“There is no place so awake and alive as the edge of becoming.” - Sue Monk Kidd
A few months ago, my therapist asked me what would be different if I knew when everything that was keeping me awake at night would end.
“I guess if I knew when it would end, I would know that it would end.”
In the middle of the night, when sleep won’t come, it can feel like nothing will ever get better. Nothing will ever change. The pain and fear will be this unbearable forever.
Whether you’re four or thirty two or eighty, everything looks scarier in the dark.
Whatever darkness you’re walking through right now, it will end. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I do know that one morning you’ll notice that you can take a deep breath. That you can laugh. That you’re okay.
As a therapist, it’s easy to say that from the comfort of my armchair, distance and time providing a clarity that’s inaccessible when you’re lost in the woods. But I’m not telling you this as a therapist. I’m telling you this from inside the woods. We’re not out of the woods yet, but one day we will be. You’re not alone. Keep walking. The sky is still blue, even if you can’t see it right now. You’re going to be okay.
This morning the kids and I stopped at the park after a trip to our favorite local bakery. They shared a chocolate croissant while I ate a tomato tart. The tomatoes were perfectly ripe, juice running down my arm and flakes of pastry falling on the ground with each bite. Their hands and mouths were smeared with chocolate and crumbs.
Shoes off, we waded in the clear water of the park’s man made lake. Lucy and James ventured further and further into the shallow water, soaking their clothes and hair while Scout swam in circles around them. It was a dreamy summer morning and as I looked up at the cotton ball clouds in a robin’s egg blue sky, I felt at peace.
Thanks friend! Two friends and I were talking the other day about nights and how dark they seem. Your words bring some light!