If you’ve read a few, or better yet, several of my posts, you’ll know I often whine about being tired. It’s ridiculous to drone on about it, but I do. Apologies. Anyhoo, earlier this week, I realised I’m not so much tired as weary; that being the more appropriate description for what I experience, so I decided to investigate.
For more than ten years, I’ve woken every two hours, give or take, all night long. In fact, you can set the clock by me. Medication can help though not consistently. It’s the same for music, exercise, meditation, yoga etc. and etc. I’ve tried pretty much everything. Oh, yeah, alcohol in copious amount works well, but it’s not a preferred solution.
About six or seven years ago, a naturopath treating a case of tennis elbow I wanted gone, said this sleeping pattern is a side effect of grief. Hmm, now that wouldn’t have anything to do with me – ahem. Being the type of person I am, her diagnosis resonated even if I recognised how challenging it would be to resolve. It’s odd when you think of it, a trauma you can’t remember, or figured was no big deal at the time, so desperate to be healed it disrupts sleep. Seems too far-fetched. Nah, not really. Our mind-body connection is fractured and longs to be joined. This is one tiny little example. Oh, and I didn’t mention the sleep thing specifically, but it was on my list of things to sort out in the redo.
So, not thinking about anything particular, I shut down the other night around 10 PM and was asleep in no time. Falling asleep isn’t the problem. During the night, I might have visited the loo but can’t say for certain, and woke at 6 AM. Wow! I did a little dance of joy in my mind before rolling over and dozing till 7:30 AM. I felt amazing. Wait a second. No, I didn’t feel amazing at all.
Now, I don’t know if anyone else is like me, but on the rare occasion when I sleep well, it’s like I’m more tired than ever the next day. I’m groggy as heck first thing, then clump around for hours waiting for super dense brain fog to lift. It’s like having a hangover in your head while your body feels good instead of icky. Well, I mentioned investigating and here’s what I found out.
Inertia. That sluggishness is known as sleep inertia and happens because you’re still on expedition in Nod where your brain would prefer to stay instead of getting up. That makes sense to me. And while sometimes the day’s a write off, usually the fog lifts by mid-morning. So it’s all good. However, it got me to thinking about inertia.
Generally, I’m too inert. My mind begs me to get a move on and do, do, do – but I don’t, don’t, don’t as a rule. Perhaps I would’ve been more effective as a sloth. (I love them, don’t you? The Elvis hair, flattish heads, and bulgy eyes. So sweet!) I wasn’t born a sloth so the point’s moot. Still, this inert thing is not the best trait, and one I’ve a gazillion reasons for, but if I start listing them I’d be rationalising and I’m over that. No excuses for this former tragic heroine. The only thing I can say is, I’ve gotta accept it or change it. Maybe some of both is in order along with healing a grieving heart.
My wish tonight is for healing. Life, despite its beauty and joy, heaps heartache on us from time to time. We take part in events which bring extraordinary sorrows, from the death of loved ones, to natural disasters. We watch in helpless dismay as children are pulled, bloodied and dazed, from bombed out buildings. Our hearts are shattering almost daily, our minds floating in a persistent state of confusion and anguish. We need big bandages, tubs of salve, and the comfort of a mother’s kiss. We need understanding, patience, forgiveness, and maybe just a smidgen of inertia so we might relax enough to let the healing begin.
Until tomorrow…
Zigzagging Toward Zen 