Last night I couldn’t sleep.  My husband has no problems at all.  When his head touches the pillow, he is already off to his own unknown territory of oblivion. As his massive strong muscles relax one by one, they send a ripple of motion through the mattress of the already wiggly hotel bed. Even if he only has the thought of turning on his other side, it pulls me out of the far away zone that usually proceeds my falling into the welcoming arms of a restful sleep.
I really want to make it work this time.  I have to sleep. Upon my request he leaves the marital bed and dives into his personal abyss into the big leather couch in the living room.  He has no problems there either.  Now I am alone in the bed, no excuses left.  Now I have to be able to sleep.  I have to.  Bits and pieces of sleep are what are given to me, and I feel horrible, terrible, when I decide to get up in the morning.  Most likely, everybody has already gone to the grocery store or the gym.  I ponder.  Perturbations are there to induce change, says David Nenan in his book No Excuses.  I wonder what kind of change this night of insomnia could possibly induce for me.  Then I got it.  I know for sure, that not sleeping, for me, is not some sort of deliberate action with a hidden personal agenda.  If anything, it shows me again that I am not using my own criteria when beating myself up about it.  These judgments are generated by the virtual parental voices that over time have taken foothold in me.
Punishing me without mercy, in the same way my real life parents used to when things happened that didn’t serve their needs.  So that will be the thing I actively begin to change.  I won’t let myself feel bad about myself any longer.  After all, avoiding the humiliation of feeling this guilt and shame is what generates the anxiety that causes the sleeplessness.  My family is supportive.  The guarantee me that me not sleeping, even though effecting them somewhat, isn’t throwing them into the abyss of despair I used to see my parents disappear in.