Dormir, Divorce, + Dark Nights

I have this distinct memory of being in eighth grade French class while learning about the words akin to “like” and “dislike”.  The teacher went around the room and asked us our opinions on certain topics, and we had to assert in French if we liked or disliked the topic.  

The teacher turned to me first and asked about my feelings regarding sleep.  When I responded “Je déteste dormir”, her expression gave away her surprise.

I was a 13 year-old saying I hated sleep.

She didn’t know what to do with me.

A classmate couldn’t help himself and replied in shock “YOU HATE SLEEP?” I think my teacher immediately regretted asking me such an innocuous question.  And she hurriedly moved the conversation along.

But I’ve always been a little odd, so I am used to people not knowing what to do with me.  

And in Classic Amy fashion, the answer isn’t as simple as the one I had to give.  I always have a story attached.  Nothing in my life can be summed up into a single sentence. 

What I didn’t get to do was defend my position on the topic. But it’s true, I hate the concept of sleep.  The whole “having to go to bed, fall asleep, and then wake up and spend my day inevitably exhausted” thing?  Not ideal. 

This might come as a surprise to you, but my mind is one that is always…..racing.  The act of trying to slow it down every single night and having the energy all day to sustain it feels utterly Sisyphean.

My proclivity for insomnia has been poked at off and on during this time in my life, but I am finding that the stress of getting this house ready for the market and thinking about a move (into the unknown) thereafter, has plunged me right back into the hard-to-sleep/the-sleep-I-get-is-bad-anyway insomnia rhythm. 

And now I’m just going to say it.  I’ve hinted, I’ve alluded, I’ve gestured, but never came out and said it, but it’s true:

I am going through a divorce.  

There it is.  

Why have I avoided saying it? 

Because it feels like I’m airing dirty laundry? (Nah, this is just a fact and a public one at that.)

Because I’ve worried it would make you uncomfortable?  (That’s honestly dumb, because it doesn’t make *me* uncomfortable)

I don’t know. But I’m telling you now.

And it shouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable because honestly I am proud of the way I have faced this dark night of the soul and kept going.

(Because when you’re in this period, it feels so much easier to turn back than to keep going.  But always forward, always through.) 

But because I kept going there are some integral relationships I have lost.  (They say friends are the family you choose, and I am learning to live into that.  It is HARD for me to do, but I’m baby-stepping my way there.) 

Since I am in the middle of a divorce, getting this house ready to sell is more than just the already emotionally-and-physically-taxing ‘regular’ sale of a house.  (If there is such a thing as a ‘regular’ sale.)

It’s purging and sorting through all the crap of life and figuring out what needs to get pruned, what is flourishing on its own, and what needs to be ripped right out of the ground.  

Every box and drawer and cabinet I weed through holds a mystery that I might not be prepared to open.  The feelings are real and deep and raw because everything (everything everything) feels like a metaphor right now 

(I mean, to be fair, everything always feels like a metaphor for me, but maybe especially now?  But also give me all the grief metaphors and I’m sooooo there, just plunging right in.) 

And the loss of the aforementioned integral relationships has left me feeling like I am experiencing the weight of the house stuff largely alone.  Like, physically alone

Those late nights when my mind is inevitably racing, I’m doing it alone.  

When I’m purging the memories and the discarded items, I’m doing it alone.  

When my kids are in bed sleeping and I’m desperately getting ready to upend our life yet again, I’m doing it alone.  

When I find myself at 1:00 am unable to stop the sorting and it’s IMPOSSIBLE to will myself to bed?  I’m doing it alone.  

As an only child I grew up with a sense of loneliness that shaped my very essence.  (Is this what makes it harder to reach out for support?  Maybe.)

But also maybe it’s made it easier for me to be honest about my loneliness. 

Because the more I read and the more people I encounter, it would appear that if you’re talking to someone with a soul, you’re talking to someone far-too-familiar with the particular ache of loneliness.  We just don’t often talk about it (by “we”, I clearly don’t mean “me” lol)

So what am I doing here with these words?  What’s my message?

In a lot of ways I’m not sure.  But I have a couple things I think I’m doing: I know I’m an external processor, so writing down my experience of the weight of it all is therapeutic for me. 

But why am I sharing it here? 

Probably because every time I am open about my experiences, others open up about theirs and we all feel less alone in those experiences.  

So when it comes to a topic such as loneliness, how can I not be open and hope it might resonate with one another person?  

I know I will make it through this.  I mean, I *have* to pass this test with flying colors for the sake of my boys. 

I am definitely NOT ungrateful for the myriad people helping me scrounge up moving supplies, coming over to help with sprucing the place up and packing, and those who hold my unhinged 12:00 am texts softly. 

I know I’m not truly alone, even when there’s not another physical being in my presence.  

So maybe, yet again, my point is: always forward. Always through. (And you’re not alone.)