I used to be afraid of the dark. As a child, I remember cowering under my blankets once the light had been turned off and I was left alone in the inky blackness of my room. Embarrassingly, this fear carried over into my adult years. I didn’t tell anyone of course but any time I slept alone I would always leave the television on so that its light would negate some of the darkness and so that the voices coming from the screen would act as some surrogate companion. Weird, I know, but it made me feel safer. For a long time I was scared of the darkness within as well.
When I was growing up and self esteem was not in my possession, the one common refrain I heard about myself from others was that I was “nice”. It became my currency in some ways. I didn’t rock the boat and if I didn’t agree with someone, I rarely said so. I would cry before I would ever get angry and yell. Don’t get me wrong, I was far from perfect, but I was a nice girl. I wasn’t supposed to have darkness within me- or so I thought. I was supposed to stand firmly in the light.
It took me some time – well into my adult years, in fact – to really start exploring my own darkness. It was terrifying because I had given my demons so much power over the years that the dark, dusty corners of my soul were uncharted overgrown forests for which there was no map. My demons were terrifying bogey men lurking around every corner, determined to fight for their existence, with no qualms about causing me pain. I looked, like most of us do, for ways to silence my demons. I looked for solace in other people, by getting wrapped up in stories that weren’t my own, and sometimes by blatantly and stubbornly disregarding the things I didn’t want to see. I acted like these things/truths didn’t exist and I crafted my own little world of illusion to help me escape.
These worked for a time, but the truth that I was working so hard to hide would always ultimately blow up in my face. While I did find temporary peace in others or in my preferred methods of escape, it soon became apparent that my demons weren’t silenced for good, they were simply asleep. As soon as that person left, the relationship ended, and/or the temporary illusion wore off, I was right back where I started. Only now these entities were screaming, banging on the cages and refusing to be subdued. At some point I began to realize just how much power I had given these shadows and knew that if I was to have any chance at fulfilling my potential and achieving any kind of peace of mind I would have to confront them and take away their power and by doing so take back my own. I was the only one who could silence my demons for good.
So I started to confront them. I began peeling away the layers of darkness and the camouflage our demons sometimes masquerade in to find the root of my pain, my insecurities, my triggers, and my self limitations. It was terrifying and it was and is a never-ending process. Much like the Phoenix, each time I would kill a demon and light up the darkness, a part of me would die and I would be, in a sense, reborn. Stepping over that threshold was liberating. Each time I did so I felt strength, joy, and peace of mind. These gifts were not only the rewards of my labors, they were practical. For I found that following each rebirth I would be forced to face a deeper, more intense, more challenging lesson necessary for continuing to soar to higher levels and manifest the truth of who I was. The gifts and lessons retained from the last experience would help me in working my way through the next one.
There were two surprising truths I learned during this process.The first time I went through this process I was shocked to find that emerging into the light was both more challenging and in some ways scarier than confronting my demons had been. With each demon I slayed, I lost a comfort zone, a shield, a limitation. For while I do feel it is necessary to confront one’s demons in order to help ensure we don’t ride a sick carousel of pain and wonder why we repeatedly keep finding ourselves in the same messed up situations, I also recognize that our demons are not inherently evil. They are born of our wounds and our fears and they serve a purpose whether we realize it or not. Though it typically isn’t healthy to continually hand them the steering wheel (often subconsciously), most if not all of our demons came into being order to protect us from something.
When you emerge into the light, you are no longer able to shroud yourself and hide in your darkness. You are no longer able to shrink back from that which scares you. In the light, you are naked and you have no excuse not to shine. If the majority of birthing stories are true, most babies would seem to prefer remaining in the safety of the dark rather than have to make their way into the light of a scary, unknown world. Marianne Williamson once said, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” The work doesn’t end in the light, in some ways is it just beginning. By stepping into the light you acknowledge your right and to some degree your ability to be more than you previously imagined you were capable of being. When you step into the light having confronted your darkness you step into your power. As corny as it may be to quote a comic book hero, it is true that with great power comes great responsibility. Maybe that’s what our demons were protecting us from all along.
The other surprising revelation I have found in my attempts to perpetually confront my darkness and emerge into the light, is that the places within that I most feared to enter were often the ones that held the greatest gifts, gifts I sometimes didn’t even know I had. By venturing into the dim caves of my soul, I rediscovered my love of writing- with an added treasure. Whereas my darkness has long included a fear of being vulnerable, I suddenly felt compelled to take the risk, take a leap of faith, and expose myself via a writing style that for me is deeply honest and transparent. That risk has paid off in immeasurable ways. Stepping off the ledge by finally setting boundaries with people I cared about but whom were not respecting my feelings took me years because of my fear of losing them and their love. Yet, doing so instilled me with a strength and a level of self respect and self love that I hadn’t previously experienced. Confronting my demons around loss and abandonment, I finally learned how to let go with love and compassion and my relationships improved and deepened as a result. I was no longer turning away from the places where love was to be found only to futilely invest my energy and heart in striving to make the relationships that were not reciprocal and which were draining me work. Whatever you focus on, grows. When I chose to focus on what fed me and made me whole rather than what left me feeling starved the love that I had for myself as well as the love I received from others grew and I was able to be a better partner, a better mother, and a better friend.
So I would implore you to explore the wild, dark, abandoned places in your soul. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, and after having successfully navigated what can at first appear as daunting minefields, you will find a sense of freedom on other side. It’s a never ending quest, one that I have had to repeat time and time again. Sometimes I have had to fight the same demon more than once in order to truly understand what it represented. It’s a bit like the television show “Lost”; once you solve one mystery, three more will be waiting for you. But oh the treasures you will find along the way!
These days I am no longer afraid of the dark. Oddly enough, once I began confronting my darkness and exploring the primeval forests within, my fear of the dark seemed to vanish for the most part. I am able to bask in the full light of the sun and dance with joy under the moon and stars in the darkest of nights with equal pleasure.