As I write this it’s 11.40pm, on a weeknight, when I should be asleep.
I’ve had my fair share of nights like this; there was the month I slept with an ice cream container by my pillow earlier in the year, or even roll back to the beginning of last year when the medication kept me awake with a racing heart and the feeling of poison coursing through my veins – it’s a wonder it took so long to realise how sick it was making me.
Tomorrow morning I’ll have to cancel a 9a.m. meeting with someone I was really looking forward to catching up with. If the level of discomfort is keeping me awake now, it’s not likely to be miraculously better in 8 hours, and although I hold out hope for a brighter morning, I’ll take this as a reminder that I still need to be gentle with myself, and put my physical needs first tomorrow.
I’m not particularly good at that, and whilst these nights can feel like an act of the devil, the silver lining inside them is in fact the angel on my shoulder teaching me, and guiding me along the path to wellness.