By Colleen Carmichael,* See the Triumph Guest Blogger
Six months. That’s how long it took me to get used to sleeping alone. Each night I would go to sleep on my side of the bed. Each morning I woke up in the same position, having barely moved. I was unable to use the whole bed, to enjoy the freedom of a queen sized bed all to myself.
Each night I went to bed with the familiar ache that pieces of my heart were missing. The empty place in my bed confirmed my worst fears; my world was upside down and being torn apart. And so, night after night I went to sleep, rigid in a straight line, with blankets wrapped tightly around me, tucked under my chin. Squeezing my eyes tight each night I prayed for the pain to end, to wake up and find it was all just a terrible dream. But, each morning, I woke up to the bed perfectly made where your body used to lay.
Until on morning, six months later, I woke up in the middle of the bed, arms stretched out covering the width of the bed and the covers messed up without discrimination. That morning, as I lay there, I realized I had begun the process of letting go. It was a small step, sleeping in the whole bed, but I also realized I no longer longed for the presence of your body lying next to me. Actually, I was finding sweet relief I no longer had to share a bed with my abuser.
Learning to sleep on my own was one of the early gateways to me learning the art of letting go.
*Note: Colleen Carmichael is a pseudonym.