What the Night Knows

Nights are especially hard. Everything gets quiet. The distractions of Netflix, the internet, text messaging, all fade away. Maybe the cats seek me out for attention, but otherwise, I’m left with empty space.

The past few nights, around 11 or 11:30 PM, I have desperately wanted to reach out to someone. What more is there to say? I miss my daughter. The holidays don’t feel the same without her here. I haven’t seen her since June. I’m still struggling to find a sense of purpose apart from parenthood.

I can only repeat these things to my friends and family so many times. It’s a loop. It feels never-ending.

Last night, at first, it wasn’t so much the sadness and the pain, as much as it was a sense of numbness, a lack of feeling, a disconnection.

I journaled about that for awhile, going back and forth from the written word to Instagram. I checked a few times to see if my best friend was still active online and considered contacting her; she was online at first, but by the time I decided okay, I will message her, she was done for the night.

What I’m thankful for from last night, though, is a post from one of the accounts I follow.

For context, I had just written something along the lines of how there was no one left to turn to. I asked the page, the universe, what do I do now?

Then I saw this message posted:

You are loved

You are not a burden

You are a gift to this world

You are more than your trauma

You are more than enough

You will make it through this

You are not done yet

You matter

Reading that made me cry, reconnecting me to my feelings. There was also a hotline number to call (988). I didn’t call the number last night, but it’s comforting to know there are resources available when all else fails.

The night may know my solitude and my despair, but it also knows my strength and my resilience. And I know, I was reminded, that there’s compassion and understanding out there, even when it seems like there is none.