As a Child, Were You Afraid of the Dark?

With only about four hours to go before the new "Weekend Wandering" question is posed I might be running a teensy bit late with this one but I might be able to set some kind of a record......

Was I afraid of the dark?

Well, I was anxious about it, that's for sure. I can't remember an overwhelming fear and that's probably because I was never really in the dark. Mum always left the light on in the hallway outside my bedroom so my bedroom was never really dark and I just can't remember any other time that I was even in the dark.

I think it would be safe to say that I have remained a little bit anxious about the dark.

You know, the experts recommend that if you need to get up during the night you should avoid turning the light on. The light shining in your eyes confuses the body into thinking it's time to wake up and insomnia can result but I can't tinkle in the dark, nope, I won't. I don't need a light on for any practical reason, I know where the toilet is and how to undress myself, I don't want to see the colour of my wee or the lovely 1960's pink toilet but I want the light on.

We go camping on occasions and that can be another time I dislike the dark, the wind in the trees can be scary and the sound of the ocean crashing on a not-so-distant shore at night takes some time to become soothing for me.

A few years back we were camping at Wye River, on the very Southern coast of Australia. The Otford Range meets the coast in that part of the country and I can remember clearly the sense of doom that I felt as storms would roll in off the ocean overnight. Thunder rolled and echoed around the mountains, booming and growling, ominous and dark. I waited impatiently, even anxiously, for the sunrise.

Another time I was overjoyed to see daylight was during my first labour. I laboured all night, the pain was intense, the child was no closer, the night seemed interminable. I sucked on the gas as if my life depended on it and I watched the window. Black. Black. Black. Hour upon hour. Gradually the window developed a streak of purple across the bottom, changing to orange and yellow then gradually filling the room with the white brightness of day. My baby was still many hours of difficult labour away but it seemed so much more bearable as the darkness slipped away.

Sometimes the darkness is my friend, sometimes I want the complete rest that is afforded by the dark. Sometimes I want to be cocooned in a warm and dark place, the closest thing possible to the safety and security of the womb.

Isn't it interesting that the darkness can be both refuge and something to take refuge from?

"God made the sun to rule over the day and the moon to rule over the night"