I have been afraid of the dark for as long as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories are of vivid, terrifying nightmares (more evidence my brain’s been broken since the get-go?). But along with the panicky night awakenings is the soothing memory of my dad. He would sit right in our bedroom doorway – three of us shared a room – and wait with us while the dark descended. He wouldn’t talk, nor would he let us talk (as a parent now I’m amazed at his patience, the gotobedalready!! battle is one of the toughest moments of my day) but he was simply there. By the end of the day my fledgling nerves were shot and I lacked the ability to calm myself so it was with utter relief I let him take over the night watch. So I could sleep.
It is this memory that I return to when, every night, Jelly Bean asks me “Sit next you?” meaning that she wants me to sit on the floor next to her bed while she falls asleep. Despite my insistence that all our children learn early on to sleep on their own, lately I’ve been “sit next you”, for a few minutes while she settles. Tonight as I watched her breathing even out and beads of sweat appear at her hairline (she is seriously the sweatiest little sleeper ever!), I realized the great honor of being a Night Watchman.
Growing up I learned to love parts of the night: fireworks, lightening bugs, meteor showers, capture the flag wearing glow-in-the-dark face paint. But writing this out, I realize that even those all revolved around light. As a teenager, I was the ironic goth who dressed the part but secretly hated all the darkness that came with it. I don’t like horror movies, haunted houses, vampires or ghost stories. As much as I hated to admit it at the time, deep down I’m a pretty cheery soul. And yet I spent a lot of time in dark places, both physical and metaphorical.
One of those was my brief run-in with a night watchman of a different stripe. This past week I’ve had to stare down some serious demons (I know! I didn’t think I had any left either! Surprise!) and while I initially thought I wouldn’t write about it here, I keep getting this feeling like I should, for whatever reason. I’ve learned not to ignore those feelings (the voices in my head, on the other hand…). So. I wrote briefly about my incident with the night watchman before – he was one of my two “not rapes” – so I won’t recount the whole story here except to say: He was a night guard at a place where I worked and moonlighted (daylighted, since his main job was at night?) as an assistant teaching self defense classes. He offered to “help” me one night with some skills and instead scared the everloving crap out of me. The night ended with me looking down the barrel of a (what I can only presume was) loaded handgun. But that was it. Nothing else happened, thankfully. After telling my roommates about it I didn’t think much more of it.
Until last weekend when a friend pulled out his loaded handgun at a restaurant and I freaked the heck out. Despite the fact that it was not a threatening situation and he wasn’t pointing it at me, I even scared myself with how intensely I reacted to it. In the moment I didn’t know why. And then the nightmares came. Reliving that experience with the night watchman was awful in a way I don’t remember it being the first time around, thanks to the perspective of adulthood. Listening to my teenaged self beg him to not hurt her was even more harrowing than when I actually did it (adrenaline?). But thanks to the magic of PTSD (like 3-D but with more letters!) I could only watch it happen over and over.
Part of the problem was that back then, as now, I was woefully ignorant of guns so I had no idea – even while looking straight down the barrel – whether the gun was real or a prop, cocked or uncocked, loaded or unloaded. In my mind, that made all the difference. Obviously a real, loaded and cocked gun warrants the terror and the tears. A fake one and I’m just a gullible idiot. So my friend unloaded his gun, handed it to me and let me look down the barrel. Which you’re never supposed to do apparently, even when it’s unloaded. But I just needed to see it. It was a weird moment. I’d never held a handgun before. I felt nauseated, hot, scared, sad, blank and a whole slew of other unpleasant emotions.
I also felt sure: The gun was real. Was it cocked and loaded? It probably was – it was the same gun he carried on his rounds and I can’t imagine a guard carrying an unloaded weapon – but I learned that you can’t tell just from looking down the barrel, especially not if it’s pressed to your forehead. And you know what else I learned? It doesn’t matter.
I was entitled to my own experience the way I lived it and given the situation, it was probably the most rational option to treat it as if it were real and loaded. Telling yourself not to feel what you feel is like telling Bravo they don’t need another Real Housewives franchise – the chain of events has already begun and denying reality only lands you on TMZ. Plus, not to get all Dr. Phil up in here (I used to loveLOVElove him when he was on Oprah… and then he got his own show and it kind of went Jerry Springer from there) but you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge. I literally had to face down one of my worst fears. And… it worked. No more nightmares. No more PTSD. Like a summer thunderstorm, it was loud, scary and too close but then it was over so quickly. I still don’t love guns. If I go the rest of my life never holding one again that will be just fine. But at least now I have one less reason to be scared of the dark.
Because here’s the thing: You can’t stay awake forever. Everyone needs a night watchman sometimes. Whether it’s a friend, a parent, a sibling or a lover, we all need a person we trust so intimately that we can sleep in their presence. If you think about it, sleep is the (pen)ultimate surrender and therefore the Night Watchman is the ultimate manifestation of trust. Sometimes people betray our trust but that doesn’t mean it was wrong to trust in the first place. But it makes it even more important to find the good watchmen, to be the good watchman. And so here I sit now, next to Jelly Bean’s bed, listening to her breathe and knowing that I will, inevitably, disappoint her as a parent. But I hope that someday she’ll remember that I stood guard next to her in the dark. So she could sleep.
Who is your night watchman? Ever been one? Any of you had to face down a big fear? Anyone else still afraid of the dark?
P.S. I got all the way through this and still don’t know why I felt compelled to write it. Honestly I’m not sure this makes much sense.
Wow what a moving post. It gave me goose bumps. You are right it is an honor to be a night watchman, so much trust has to be there. I’d never thought about it until I had children and became their night watchmen. Go you for facing up to your demons. That is amazing and full on.
not a word to add.
you are so amazingly talented.
(shoot two to add: happy birthday)
What Miz said.
I don’t know that I’ve ever had a night watchman, I was rarely afraid at night growing up. However, in HS my best friend did something (drugged me perhaps) and I have almost no memory of tht night other than a feeling of floating outside of my body. I’ve struggled with ever losing control since (I cannot drink unless my husband is there and never lose my inhibitions).
When my sister was in HS she went through a period of inviting guys over when my parents weren’t home and drinking recklessly. After trying to talk to her about the risks I had to tell my parents in hopes of protecting her. I hope eventually she’ll see I was trying to be her night watchman.
I don’t remember being afraid of the dark. My middle sister and I shared a room, and I do remember Dad sitting on the floor between our beds, reading to us at bed time. I know that my Mom & Grandmother read to us sometimes as well, but it’s my Dad that I remember.
My youngest sister did not like to fall asleep by herself at all. She always wanted someone to stay with her. I guess after a certain point Mom & Dad felt she should go to sleep on her own, so they would leave and she would come to my room (I had my own room by then) and fall asleep with me. Dad would come and put her back in her own bed before he retired for the night. I was close to both my sisters growing up, but I’d say my youngest sister and I have the closest relationship. Maybe that’s why, though she says she doesn’t remember doing that now. 🙂
My dear, sweet MIL is, and has always been, afraid of the dark (and to be alone). For years it was a source of mystery to her that I enjoyed being home alone and was not afraid to wander through the house in the dark. Many people are afraid of the dark…its almost like a primeval fear…perhaps because it is the unknown. You write whatever makes you happy, Charlotte. Sometimes the story just needs to see the light of day (umm, no pun intended, so I get no points) and you are a great storyteller. (((hugs)))
As I write this I sit on the floor of my youngest sons bedroom patting him back to sleep. I play night watchman for both my sons, in fact sometimes given their ages and separate rooms I struggle to give them both the time they want. But as the mother of 2 boys I realise they will grow up in the blink of an eye and one day rather than “mummy rub my back” I may find the bedroom door shut on me ( at least for a period of time). So I take any moment offered for cuddles and silent companionship.
As an adult I still hold a level of nervousness in the dark, I agree it is a natural protective instinct – its when you have no fear that you drop your guard. Maybe you will never fully understand why you felt the need to write this, but reading this post will probably help someone
else !
I, too, have been Night Watchman for my son. But he’s 9 now and has yet to make it through a sleepover because I’m not there watching him fall asleep . So I wonder: does playing Night Watchman only teach them that there is something to fear? At what point should a Watchman no longer be needed? At some point it’s going to seem odd when my teenager needs his Mama to lay with him.
Stefanie, just like it’s pretty rare to find a teenager STILL in Pull Ups (although there are days when you wonder if it will EVER happen…), it’s pretty likely your son will eventually get the hang of it. In the meantime, like Karen said – enjoy the ride! It’s gone all too soon…
Charlotte – sometimes you just gotta write for YOU. (And the rest of us appreciate you letting us in.)
Moving post, Charlotte. I’m glad you were able to work through your fears. It’s a difficult thing to do. As for not being sure why you had to post it, I’d like to think things happen for a reason and maybe, just maybe, it will help someone else as many of your posts do.
Guns used to be one of the things I feared most, even though I grew up in a family where hunting was normal. But, I had never gone along on hunts and had never touched the guns. Surprisingly, the thing that got me over that fear was taking gun safety classes through the DNR and shooting various guns (shotguns, rifles, handguns) in a safe environment with knowledgeable teachers.
For a time in my childhood I used to make my dad sleep with me every night. It was while my parents were divorcing and I guess he figured I needed the comfort so he did it. In my twin bed, poor man. Of course he would leave after I fell asleep but I remember feeling very safe with him there.
That is a very sweet situation. I remembered that too when I was still afraid sleeping on my own. It was very hard for me to get asleep when I felt the dark beside me.
I had my Dad. And now my husband.
And I am, despite my best efforts, still afraid of the dark…
Although JellyBean may not remember you being her night watchman, the trust and safe zone you’ve given her makes so many other things in her life easier. These are the kind of gifts we give our children that we probably will never be acknowledged for but know are building blocks to great adults. Thank you for sharing your journies. I too try to bring the things that haunt me out to the light of day and examine them. It can be a painful process but every time you examine it/talk about it/blog about it, the pain or fear shrinks a little more.
My 2-year-old says “mommy rest on couch” every night at bedtime. And I do rest on the couch in his room – sometimes a couple of minutes, sometimes until he falls asleep. He is too sweet to turn down. People give me a hard time about him needing to learn to fall asleep on his own, but I’m glad to read that I’m not the only one who thinks being his watchman is not only okay, but a good thing to do.
People said that to me with my first son too. He turns 5 on Monday and has long ago learnt to put himself to sleep at night if I can’t be in his room. It is obviously working for you two and that’s all that matters !
A few years ago, my husband was in a very dark place, and he tried to kill himself. When he came home from his stay in the hospital, I became a night watchman for us both; staying awake while he fell asleep to protect him from anything harmful his brain could conjure, and staying awake long after because I was trapped by my own fear of what might happen if I didn’t prevent it.
This was such a great post. I could really use a night watchman these days. My cat is more of a night terror 😉
This is really interesting post. I am afraid of dark too. However, it is important to conquer our fear.
Am I the only one who is wondering why your friend pulled out a loaded gun at a restaurant? That would creep me out big time, and I’m not even afraid of guns.
But as for your night watchman question, do imaginary watchmen count? When I was a teenager, I got a bit obsessed about a fictional character from a fantasy story…basically a tough guy swords-and-sorcery type. At the time, my life really sucked and some bad stuff had happened to me and I was pathologically shy. Somehow the imaginary world I comforted myself with managed to bleed over into my real life and helped me become more confident. After a few college courses in psychology I decided that my imaginary “friend” was similar to the Jungian concept of the “animus,” in other words the more “masculine” or forceful side of my personality.
Twenty years later, I still find this fictional character compelling as a symbol of someone to protect me and encourage me to be stronger. Sometimes years go by and I don’t even think about him, and then when life bogs down, I’ll have a dream about him and realize that I am strong enough to cope with things. So my night watchman is an imaginary character who is actually a facet of my own self. This was probably one of your weirder comments…but once again, I enjoyed your thought-provoking and very honest post.
Posts like these are amazing and what got me so hooked on you (wow that sounds creepy) I should say hooked on your blog 🙂 You are so real and have such an amazing way of writing that even when I don’t think a post is necessarily relevant to me, you write something that completely resonates and makes me think a little bit differently. I love it. Thank you!!
you are seriously asking why you wrote this? this you read it? its amazing!!!! I didn’t have such bad experiences as you had, (fortunately!), but I’m afraid of the dark too and my fiancé is my watchman! when he works his nightshift I sleep worse. and i’m looking forward to being watch(wo)man 😉 for a little one!! have a great weekend!
So scary…I’ve never even seen a gun in real life.
I have nightmares of spiders dropping down on me in my sleep and I wake screaming. I still have these dreams maybe 8-10 times a year. It’s terrifying then, even though I am not all that afraid of spiders when I’m awake. The dog is probably my watchman 😉 Nothing wakes these other members of the family!!
I wonder if… you wrote this for me? Yesterday, my husband and I were swimming in the pool when I face-planted the bottom. The shock rolled through my body as I felt sharp pain in my lips & teeth, then panic as I struggled to get to the surface of the water so I could breathe. My husband thought I was goofing around and swam over to me and grabbed me. I freaked even more and started punching him. The logical part of my brain knew that he didn’t have a clue what just happened. The irrational side of my brain was shouting I was hurt and I needed to just fight my way out before I could get hurt more. He realized at once something was wrong and let me just move away. Later, I went to him and said, “I don’t understand why… when I get hurt, I completely lash out now. I swing my fists any which way. I don’t understand.” His response? “I believe it’s because you’re now discovering your own inner-strength. Your own sense of who you are. You’re coming to believe that you ARE worth fighting for.” I’m still stewing on this because I’m working through why I never fought back when I was hurt so many years ago. Anyway. Bit of a ramble.
I have this fear when I was on the dark. It makes me paranoid knowing that I am alone on the dark. Dark together with the roaring rain and thunder makes me freaking paranoid. It makes me getting crazy. So, I really don’t want to be alone in the dark room.
This whole post just makes me want to hug you and be hugged by you. I’m still terrified of the dark, even in my late 20s. I’ve always been terrified of it and I can’t pin point when or why, although I can rattle off enough not so great experiences I’ve survived in the dark. My Night Watchman is my husband, but our pug usually takes the first shift until my husband comes to bed.
Thanks for sharing your experiences! I was definitely afraid of the basement growing up and the dark – I don’t think most people ever get over it entirely, they just learn to deal with it and accept that, hey, if something is down there and it gets me so be it!
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