Letter from My 48th Year (May 27)
I’ve gone to bed the last two nights totally in the buff. Which is a huge deal for me since I prefer to be clad in pjs from head to toe. I tried a couple of times during past summers to sleep in just my panties, and I didn’t like it. I felt too exposed, too vulnerable. Though I was covered with a sheet. Though the shades were firmly drawn. Though I sleep alone. So I’m trying to get more comfortable with being vulnerable in safe spaces. Like in my bedroom. Where I sleep with the bedroom door firmly closed. Though I live alone and rarely have houseguests. Sleeping in the nude is uncomfortable. Physically so sometimes when I can feel my thighs rubbing together during the night. Or my flesh gets caught in a way when I twist and turn that it doesn’t when I’m clothed and have a barrier. Emotionally and intellectually it’s uncomfortable because I can’t articulate quite what I’m trying to prove to myself, why it matters that I can comfortably sleep in the nude. Still, instinctively I know it’s something I should be working on. I think it has something to do with trust. I think it also has something to do with being comfortable in my own skin, not just when I’m in a great mood, but when I’m feeling vulnerable. It feels a little ridiculous that I have to practice exposure given what I sometimes admit to/reveal in these blogs. But there’s a way pen and paper, keyboard and screen protect my emotional skin the way pajamas protect my physical skin. Maybe I’m teaching myself—metaphorically—how to be comfortable with allowing myself to be vulnerable, face to face, skin to skin, flesh to flesh. Maybe it’s a sign of faith that I won’t always want to sleep alone.