Cocooned

Last night as I settled into bed, I had one of those small but significant moments of self-realisation that occasionally occur, and that simultaneously intrigue and confuse me.

It was most likely a result of the fact that I was freshly bathed, shaved, and moisturised, and I was getting into bedclothes that were clean, so were particularly fresh, crisp and soft; factors all combining to make me lay for a while just appreciating the physical sensations of skin against cotton, and the enjoyment of settling down into a warm bed on a cold winters night.

As I settled into that pre-sleep foetal position I always have, I suddenly realised that I was doing an unconscious, but extremely familiar added detail of taking one hand over the opposing shoulder and tucking the duvet right into the back of my neck and right round my shoulder. It may not seem significant, but I’m sure I never used to do this, and then further insight dawned and I also realised that in the few months this physical cocooning is something that I have transferred metaphorically in my emotional life. It’s like I’ve crocheted an emotional security blanket from the past, and as I settle into bed every night I cocoon myself in it in the exact same way I wrap my real duvet around me.

I’ve accepted and acknowledged in the past that I haven’t wanted to get rid of all the pain I was feeling, and that in a way I’ve almost clutched it to me and carted it around as a barricade. And while I’m not in that relentless pain anymore, I’ve exchanged that barrier for a different one; a softer, more protective blockade against the rest of the world.

No doubt therapists everywhere will be telling me I need to get rid of all this emotional dead weight, but I frankly I don’t want to. It’s safer this way.