Making the Bed

I have a plan.

One concocted with a trusted soul, out of need, want and care. One with direction, expansion and peace at the core.

I want to make my bed. I want to sleep in my bed.

I’m over 50 years old. I live in a 2 bedroom house. There’s just me and my dog here. I have a double bed and a single bed. I sleep on the sofa.

I’ve had many, many addresses, houses, caravans, flats. My own and other people’s. Shared and solo. Many places with luxury beds, fancy bedding, beautifully decorated bedrooms, I slept on the couch more times than not.

I can’t give the month of when I last slept in my bed, it’s not this address or the one before, or the one before that.

I can’t give a year of when I last felt okay, calm, safe, not needing control or numbness to sleep in my bed or another’s.

I sleep on my sofa. Blanket and pillows already there, easily put away if there’s a visitor, but usually there, surrounding me.

Same spot. Same place. My sleeping space. With 2 perfectly good bedrooms and beds upstairs.

But we have a plan.

The room with the single bed in it I had planned to make into a writing space, a creative space. A haven of words and art. There is space for a desk, shelves, boxes of arty bits and books and a single bed. So instead of forcing myself into the main bedroom straight away, when I can currently manage a few minutes just sitting or laying down in there before the panic, dread sets in, I’ll make up the single bed in the second room.

 

Sheets, duvet and new pillows. The rest of the room laid out as I want it. Decorated first then organised. A cover over the furnished bed.

 

Then I’m sleeping in my “office”, in my new space.

 

As I unpack discarded items and paint the walls, arrange bits and pieces I can gradually get accustomed to spending time in there. Minutes to hours. See what I need and want around me.

 

Then start sitting on the bed, writing, drawing, on my phone. With the dog perhaps.

 

Then try going there when it’s time to go to bed. Forgiving myself if I can’t stay. Trying again when all I feel calm and safe.

 

I hope to one day, one night break the chains that keep my on my sofa, in the same spot, day and night. I hope one night to break the fear, the need for control by avoidance. To break through the pain.

 

We never know the routines of people in private spaces. The triggers they face even in their safe spaces. The reasons why.

I’m giving myself the forgiveness for not knowing or accepting all the reasons why.

Given, as a survivor of abuse and sexual exploitation and violence, the things that have happened to me in a bed, I am beginning to give myself a break over this and to not feel the shame for wanting my bed back.

I want to take back some power in the form of comfort, to stop my abusers over the years from still having control over my daily life and over what I feel I deserve.

I’m reminding myself of the tools and strengths I possess to combat and dilute the nightmares and sensations that may remain.

I’m beginning to forgive myself for denying myself comfort, for avoiding the pain and replacing it with restrictions.

I’m reminding myself I deserve the care I wish for, even if I don’t always believe it.

Tonight I’m looking online for bedding and pillows. Over the next few days I’ll start tidying and boxing. Step by step I’ll get there. Day by day I’ll make my bed.