I had fitful sleep (again) last night. It isn’t lost on me that the older I get, the more intentional I have to be about a consistent sleep schedule. The more haphazard my sleep is, the more likely I am to erupt into tantrums the next day—just like when I was a toddler. I suppose there is an element of truth to Benjamin Button.
My fitful sleep was not just about a misaligned sleep-schedule, however. During the day yesterday, well before bedtime, my brain was stuck in some kind of anxiety loop—searching. scanning, and analyzing. All day. Exhausting—I was so unsettled.
The loop I found myself in felt like danger was somehow imminent and I needed to stay alert to detect and prevent catastrophe (bless my heart). The suckiest part? Even with all the energy I spent trying to “figure it all out” (whatever “it” was), I came to zero conclusions.
I spent an entire day with my gears spinning and humming (and sometimes smoking) with absolutely nothing to show for it other than my own depletion. And, (spoiler alert): It turns out that there was no danger! Oy. But. Facts and the nervous system, however, are fickle friends. A thing dos not have to be true for it to feel true in the body. The threat of danger need not be rational to have an impact on my nervous system.
Sweet Dreams Are(n’t) made of this
When awake-me was unable to find a suitable source of danger, asleep-me simply took up the mantle to carry on the search. Hence the fitful sleep—anxiety dreams.
In my first dream, I encountered two friends that I had frustrated by ‘teasing them too much’. My dream-state conclusion: Being fully-me was too much and my friends needed a break from me. Wow is that an old wound: You are too much, Rhonda. Be. Less.
Ouch.
In my second dream, I was tasked with restoring order to a home that was in the middle of a move. I moved from room to room trying to put things back in order before company arrived—tidy, straighten, declutter. But I could not make a dent..
In the dream, I finally realized I needed help and asked for it (Go dream-me). But the family member closest to me refused. Just: “Nope.”Without the help I needed, I failed. Everything was undone and out of place.
Even knowing it was “just a dream,” I woke up feeling like I had spent the entire night trying to move and getting nowhere. This morning, I am completely depleted. And I’ve not even started the day—because of striving and failing.
Little Girl
When I think of the striver in me, I picture this version of me:
This face—that is who I think of when I hurt. Im about 4 maybe 5. Big eyes. Bowl cut. Chubby cheeks. Posing for an Olan Mills photographer—it looks like I want to smile but I’m holding back. Timid. Afraid to give in to whatever he is doing that amuses me.
You can’t see me
I’ve been told I was a bit ‘standoffish’ as a kid, especially with men. My favorite uncle, for example, was someone I wanted to spend time with. He was someone whose attention I wanted—but I didn’t know how to ask for it. So I would hide behind things and, over time when my hiding seemed to work TOO well and he didn’t notice me, I would slowly come closer. I would hide a little bit more near—in plain sight sometimes if I had to.
Oh Rhonda.
I wanted to be noticed and doted on, but I didn’t know how to be seen in a way that felt comfortable. I was the little stealth kid trying to get connection without risking too much.
Run Rhonda, Run!
From that same time period of my childhood, I have a formative memory with another family friend— D.
D was in his early twenties and I adored him. Five-year-old me absolutely relished his attention. My behavior said it all. I tried to be near him as often as I could. Maybe not even hiding.
I remember this one evening being out with my parents at an event at a high school. D and his girlfriend were standing in front of me talking to me, while I leaned against the wall beside my mom. Outwardly, I was still my quiet little self. Internally, though, I loved being the subject of their attention.
It was during that conversation, though, that that D inadvertently hurt my feelings. He pointed to my belly and labeled it ‘fat’. It was, as I recall now with adult eyes, said with affection; there was no malice. I think he genuinely was trying to connect with me by teasing. But D unwittingly found a wound.
This was the “too much Rhonda” wound all over again. His connection no longer felt safe and I needed an exit. Fast.
And the vivid memory imprinted on my brain? I ducked down and ran…right through his legs. That was my way out; my escape.
When I picture it now, I don’t just see four-year old me running away. I wonder where I was running to.
Run to the Father
I see that little five-year-old girl—round cheeks, big eyes, little-girl bangs, heart a little hurt but still open—it replays in my mind. She doesn’t know where she is going, but she knows where she doesn’t want to be.
She keeps trying to find a way out. Back then, it was running through someone’s legs but she had no earthly idea where she would go. Now, it’s my mind—that is where I run to when I sense danger. My brain just keeps going. Turning things over. Trying to solve, trying to fix, trying to find the exit.
But it can’t find one. And I don’t always know what it’s trying to escape. This Cody Carnes song says it all:
Prayer for the hurting child
God, my tactics may have changed, but the routine has not. There is a little girl inside of me who runs every time she senses danger. And she is tired of running.
Would You meet her there? Would You let her see You on her path? When she hides in plain sight, will you tell her that you see her and that she need not be afraid?
“I run to the Father, I fall into grace
I’m done with the hiding, no reason to wait…”
When she is searching, she’s hiding. When she’s scanning for danger, she’s hiding. Even when she’s trying to connect… she’s bracing.
God… would You quiet the part of her that won’t stop searching for sanctuary? Would You quiet the part of me that thinks safety is somewhere I have to figure out?
“My heart has been in Your sights
Long before my first breath…”
Would You let her know that safety is always there. Waiting for me. Will you redirect her? Gently? Help her to replace an empty escape route with a path that leads to you?
God, let her feel what it’s like to not have to earn your embrace. To not have to get it right. To not have to trust people to not hurt her. Let her sense you always near. Standing there. Ready to scoop her up.
“Just as I am, You pull me in…”
God, would You pull her in? Would You hold her? Would You soothe the part of her that is so scared of being hurt again? You don’t call her names. You don’t pull away. You don’t shame her for being too much. You don’t shame her for not being enough.
You just… love her.
Fully.
Safely.
Without hesitation.
So God, when my mind starts running, would you remind me where to run? Would You remind her?
“Again. And again. And again. And again. I run to the Father, I fall into grace…”
Let that be the place she goes. Not into her head. Not into the loop. But into Your arms. Every time.
Leave a Reply