I am a menopausal white woman in the middle of a pandemic. And I’m awake. Not just in the political/activist sense (which honestly makes me twitch a little every time I hear it—because it feels self-righteous and congratulatory when a white person says it), but in a very literal sense.
I’m literally not sleeping. And yet, I really want to. At times it feels like torture—going to bed exhausted, closing my eyes and…nope, no sleeping. So I pull out my flashlight and try to read. Two pages later and my eyes are rolling back in my head, so I turn off my flashlight, put away the book, and try again. Nope. Rinse and repeat.
I’ve heard this is what it’s like for menopausal women, this hokey-pokey dance with sleep. But as I was experiencing it last night, I couldn’t help but think about where we are now in this pandemic. We’re not fully asleep, but neither are we fully awake. We’re not rested, but we’re also not depleted. It’s dark out, and yet we’re up with the moon, not down with the sun.
Everything feels topsy-turvy and disorienting.
Patience is thin, tempers are short, focus lacking. This is the middle place, between here and there. Part of me feels born for this, like me being awake right now is the most natural thing. And part of me feels alone like I should be sleeping. Except I’m not.
I’m very much awake.
Want to know what these daily verses are all about for me? Read here to learn what inspired this practice on my birthday post, November 1st.
