(This writing prompt is from Mama Kats)
I use to love sleep. I would relish it. My childhood bed was firm and cozy at the same time. I don’t remember ever having issues with sleep. The night was safe. The night brought peace and dreams.
When i went to college, i also don’t remember issues with the night. I had a few all-nighters but they were few and far between. My love affair with sleep continued. In my first apartment, I made my bedroom somewhat of an oasis. I had soft Laura Ashely sheets, with a mostiquo nest over the bed. I took blankets from home–one orange and black–clearly so very 1970s. I loved it because it connected me to my grandfather. The other blanket, was black and had a clown on it. Thinking of it now, the clown was more scary than cute. It screamed early 1990s. My mattress was cozy and the pillows were fluffy.
Throughout my married life, night continued to be my friend. I would sleep solid. I was indifferent to the night. It was there and it was fine.
Then came motherhood. One of the clearest moments is being up with the baby, the rest of the house was asleep–dog and husband. I was awake. The baby was awake. I felt rage. I felt trapped. I sat in the rocking chair, looking out to the dark. I hated that everyone was asleep. I decided that by 5 am, i could no longer be angry as half of the country was awake.
There are times that the night brings me anxiety. I hate the idea of being up, while the rest of the house is awake. There is nothing more lonely. And because i fear being awake, i keep myself up with this fear. Over the years i have created horrible sleep habits (like watching tv, late into the night).
The peaceful night. This is my missing piece.