EMA's, Ranting and Whispering

So I usually fall asleep by one or two o’clock, and then I wake up around three-thirty.

My then-therapist nods his head and lets out an Ohhhhh…mmmmm.

Then, I stay awake long enough to see the sun rise and then drift off for what feels like ten minutes maybe, and then wake up groggy.

It's a beautiful thing when you actually want to see it.

Ohhhh…mmmm.

*blank stare from me*

You’ve got EMA’s.

At last, a diagnosis.

Wait. What are EMA's? Am I dying? I knew I was dying.

*heavy sigh from the therapist* EMA's are Early Morning Awakenings.

Well, no %$@&$! Sherlock!

Look, I’ve never been a good sleeper, unlike my husband who can literally say goodn—and be snoring before his head hits the pillow. It’s some weirdo parlor trick that we probably oughta take on the road.

Even now, it takes at least a week for me to fall asleep and then the dreaded EMAs hit. I was in my late-twenties at the time of my thirty-dollar-copay EMA “diagnosis.” It was, at the time, due to Major Depression. Now, it’s due to all the hormonal craziness that happens because I’m a year over the half-century mark…and maybe a little depression and a little anxiety too.

I mean, who wouldn’t have either of those in the times we’re living in?

Anyway, whatever the cause, EMA’s have always irritated me. Like, angry irritated. Talking to the darkness irritated and yelling at morning-breaking irritated.

On one of my talking, worrying, ranting, yelling EMAs, a Still Small Voice said Why don’t you talk to Me instead of the darkness? First, I was like PFFFT. But somewhere in between the second or third PF and the FFT, a release valve was opened.

I ranted at and unloaded on the Still Small Voice: I don’t know what I’m doing. I probably suck as a mom, a wife and a Christian. I’m angry. I don’t even know what I want to do with my life and I’ve already lived a half-century. DO I HAVE ANOTHER HALF CENTURY LEFT? I don’t think so! None of this feels fair and I feel done, okay?

Soon I got in the habit of just unloading on the Voice. But the unloading was always about me.

Things are different now.

It seems like everyone the world is on the cusp of depression or at least dipping a toe into anxiety’s pool. None of us knows what we’re doing and think we suck at being a parent, teacher, leader, pastor, friend …you name it.

So now I include everybody I know through social media or in real life on my rants. Sometimes it’s like WELL YOU KNOW [fill in the blank] is struggling with [fill in the blank]. I hate that [fill in the blank] has to carry this burden. It doesn’t feel fair. It’s not fair. 

But most times the rant is more of a a whisper. Most times, it is:

We’re exhausted. We need a lifeline. Please. Give strength. Give clarity. Give Healing. Please.

Maybe EMAs might not be such a bad thing after all, Sherlock. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if we all had them. Especially right now.