Allowing the Mysteries of Twilight

Insomnia and trouble sleeping have always been a part of my life. So much so that “bad sleeper” is something I’m known for - it has become a piece of my persona.

When I realized that, it made me laugh, simply because it isn’t something I chose, but it’s so pervasive that my coaches, mentors, and friends are constantly reminded of it. When they see me online at 2AM because I can’t relax, or as I’m sending groggy messages in the late morning.

Or I take out an entire book in a couple days, purposefully ignoring the deep, dark circles under my eyes that tell the story of shit sleep.

My parents tell me I would take forever to go to sleep as a small child. I’d hear the coyotes start their ruckus late in the night, and my noggin would pop up over the side of my parents’ bed, bright eyes shining in the darkness, with a now-infamous “AH! WASSAT?!” in a baby whisper.

My mom had to literally hold me tightly in her arms, wrapped in a blanket, to make me stop squirming long enough to relax and fall asleep. My husband now does the same when I’m restless.

But I found something in all of this that makes it all worth it to me. The Twilight Stage.

Many of you awesome nerdy people are hearing the intro to a certain weird late night show with the word “Twilight” in the title, and I love that because it’s not all that far removed.

I’m speaking of The Twilight before I fall asleep, and the dozing stage before I’m able to convince myself to get up - these spaces are full of THINGS that are inspiring and sheer magic if I give them the time to unfold.

Thoughts, and ideas.

Article titles and topics.

Book storylines and character developments.

Whispers from the Universe and nonfiction inspiration fill my mind as I’m slowly drifting off to sleep.

My mind toys with the very concepts of time and space as I drift, not awake or asleep - in a liminal space that isn’t exactly restful, but is more powerful what lies on either side of it.

In waking, that space awaits again, and this time it’s plumbing the depths of the dreams I had. Fiddling with the symbolism of my nightmares like some people fiddle with a Rubix Cube. Turning it this way and that, to see if I can puzzle out what my subconscious is trying to convey to my dense waking mind.

Spending time in “The Twilight Stage” has been a hobby of mine for a long time. Yes, partially because deep sleep evades me a lot, but also because I’ve learned to enjoy it. Some pretty awesome stuff comes out of that stage.

But I ruined it.

As with many wonderful things, we can sometimes get careless with those places, times, and spaces that bring us comfort and inspiration.

I stopped nurturing my time in The Twilight Stage. I started resenting it.

Why?

Because I breed bad sleepers.

I became a mom.

I brought an amazing little person into the world - who apparently had been given ZERO heads-up that mommy needs to get some rest here and there or else she goes a little crazy.

My first kid was up (I’m not joking nor exaggerating here) every 20 to 60 minutes for the first couple years of his life.

Riiiiiiiiight about the time I had that one sleeping a little better (but only because we’d hired someone to help due to me being on the verge of becoming the mayor of crazytown) BOOM, here came bad sleeper 2.0.

Between adorable, magical bad sleeper #1, and heart-wrenchingly cute, fabulous bad sleeper #2 . . . I was a damn wreck.

My own poor sleep was exacerbated, and sleep became a chore.

Fuck, did rest in general become a chore.

As soon as I had two seconds to myself to rub together, I was down. I was trying to glean ANY sleep or even pseudo-sleep that I could get.

It was not lost on my husband or parents that if my head hit the armrest of the couch, I was snoring almost instantly.

There were health concerns.

But really, I was just tired. Tired to my core.

Because I’m a bad sleeper. And I breed bad sleepers.

As soon as the boys were in bed, I rushed to my mattress and lied down, telling myself to sleep.

Just sleep.

Sleep, damn it.

Just. Go. The. Fuck. To. SLEEP!!!

I would lie there, crying and hating everyone (not least of which was my wonderful, supportive husband and his useless nipples) - and refuse the allure of the Twilight Stage.

The Twilight Stage was a joke. Rest didn’t live there. Sleep did NOT reside in that space. Fuck that.

I was a mom now. I was also trying to run a business. I needed SLEEP and I needed it NOW.

So I pushed away the Twilight. I rejected it at every turn. I ended up resenting it for reminding me of the cool liminal timeI used to have.

I used to be a star, screaming through the cosmos like I’d been there a million times.

I used to listen to the whispers of the air, waiting to hear timeless secrets unfold.

I used to . . .

Used to . . .

Be . . .

Someone.

Damn.

That was when it hit me.

I can’t point out a specific day or time, or where I was when I realized that I was missing out on something that had made me so happy.

But at some point, I asked myself when it was that I stopped ENJOYING going to bed.

When did going to bed become something I did simply because I was going to be a raging bitch the next day if I didn’t?

When did I stop allowing myself a few minutes in the morning to mull over last night’s dreams?

In fact, when was the last time I dreamed at all that I remembered?

I missed sleeping for sleep’s sake. And I missed my beloved, magical, inspiring Twilight Stage.

So I decided that I was going to give that back to myself. My kids are older, and sleeping much better, yes. I have a little more breathing room where sleep is concerned.

But I made a conscious choice that this was something I deserved, because I loved it.

Recapturing The Twilight Stage has been a journey. Obviously, things are a little different now. When life changes, oftentimes the best thing we can do is to change with it.

I still just collapse into bed sometimes, wishing I didn’t have to. And on those nights I wish I could just vanish into the depths of restful sleep because I’m exhausted.

I also still get awoken sometimes, cranky and unsettled, because a small child has appeared naked at the side of my bed, yelling that they need new sheets and PJs. (Ok, maybe not really yelling, but it seems like it.)

Life goes on and the world turns. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But this year in particular, I’m reclaiming my Twilight Stage. Instead of sleep being an onerous chore, I’m turning it into a hobby again.

I’m going to go to bed and allow myself to drift on the currents of whatever river the sandman takes me down that night.

I’m going to wake up in the morning and allow my eyes to close again, pondering the depths of what I witnessed during the night, instead of berating myself into getting up just because the self-development books tell me I should.

I’m inviting the mysteries and inspiration of The Twilight Stage back into my life with open arms.

And I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for me.