I've been sleeping. I’ve been sleep walking…for the past five years. I’ve found myself in a deep stupor. I’ve been buried, buried alive. Buried for five long years.
There’s something out there — it’s ethereal. It’s ever so elusive. It's my light — the thing that makes me shine, pop, and sparkle, and the thing that creates magnetism within me. The thing that makes me, ME. I can’t seem to catch hold of it. My light is elusive.
There have been a handful of times over the past five years when I’ve believed I was resurfacing and believed I caught my light again. I felt it deep in my bones. But those moments slipped through my hands, and I was buried again, only to return to my sleep walking stupor.
My light continues to escape me. I had an idea somewhere along my path… Can my light and my sleep walker coexist? I haven’t found a way yet, so for now, I remain buried and in the dark, until either I find my light or my light finds me.
I have been darkened by many things: by divorce, by my life-saving medications, and by loss— the loss of my dad, and the loss of six pregnancies. But of all the things that have darkened me, it’s something called “self-doubt” that has undeniably buried me the deepest. Self-doubt swallowed me, spit me out, and gave birth to a “sleep walker.”
One thing I know is that I had been filled with unwavering self-confidence and belief in myself, ever since I was young. It was something my mom instilled in me from the beginning. And blissful self-belief blessed me until 2020. I can think of two moments during that time that robbed me of this superpower. One was the demise of my mindset coaching business when I stepped away during my divorce, and I will keep the other moment to myself. Those two moments threatened my security in my identity and my self-confidence. After that, I bloomed for some time while I was living in L.A. — but it was like “terminal lucidity,” when someone rallies right before they die— it was short lived. And just like that, I lost my light.
When you’re buried, or sleep walking, there’s an emptiness — no passion, no purpose — just, drifting, if you will. You can have loads of things that could / should / do bring you happiness (like close family, or a romantic relationship), but there’s still a deep emptiness, like your soul just doesn’t feel whole. Instead, it feels piecemeal: scattered, tattered, and worn. And you just feel…tired…like no amount of rest could rejuvenate you, because when all the pieces of your soul are shredded and scattered, there’s no vestibule to fill or recharge. You’re just eternally drained, depleted of your light, your lust, your soulfulness. I’m certain that I’ve felt exactly that way for the past five years. I’ve been sleep walking.
For the past five years, I’ve been drifting and wandering aimlessly through life. Sure, there have been fleeting moments that have happened, like trying to start a new business, or starting a new hobby, or trying to get into the gym. The ideas, the intention that I set to achieve said things, well, they eventually just float away. Because someone who sleep walks doesn’t get to feel potential, purpose, passion, or lust for life. They simply…are. They simply exist. And that’s what I’ve been doing.
Since leaving Los Angeles in 2021 (the place I left my heart, maybe even my light too), and moving back to Connecticut, I’ve set a few intentions. I decided I would make new friends, and I did that. I decided I would get some per diem jobs to feel like I’m contributing to the world, and I did that. I decided I’d spend time with my family, and I did that. I even did the most honorable and rewarding thing I can think of, which was to care for my Dad when he was dying, I did that. And all of these things mean a lot to me. Yet somehow, I continue to sleep walk. Nothing wakes me up, yet, at least.
In a way, sleep walking through life is a beautiful thing. Because there’s no pressure on you to be perfect, to make strides toward your goals, to make monumental achievements. There’s not much responsibility in this void either. I can’t say that many people truly rely on me, not like when my business was booming years ago. Sleep walking can be gentle, and patient, in it’s own way. When my Dad died, I was able to take a week off from work, and nearly stop the clocks to grieve. I didn’t have people chasing me down, like I used to when my old business was successful. And yet, despite being a beautiful thing, sleep walking is bitter. Both things get to be true.
Sleep walking is bitter, cold, and harsh. It is relentless in it’s emptiness. It is not for someone without resilience and grit. It is not for the feint of heart. Because drifting means that you are without your light, the thing that makes you, you. It is to walk without intention, to exist without purpose or meaning. It is empty. It is devoid of lust and life.
This emptiness of mine is also so very deeply dishonest. It’s an unwelcomed guest at the dinner party, spreading lies to all. Because you see, me without my light, is not me at all. I’m still in the dark as I write this, so I’m not sure where this story ends. I choose to think it ends with me getting my light back, breaking past my walls of self-doubt, and regaining unwavering faith in my ability to soar through this world, unencumbered by darkness. I like to think that we all get to experience meaning, joy, laughter, and purpose, as long as we dare to traverse through the darkness to find each of our lights. I believe that you get to have your light, as much as I eventually get to have mine.
I was not raised to be a sleep walker. I was not born to be empty. I was not put here to be buried. I was not brought into the world to be darkened. I am here to have my light, and to be a light for myself and others. I believe I am here to use my light for good.