Waiting for dawn.

“What if a thousand sleepless nights is what it takes to know You’re near? What if trials in this life are Your mercy in disguise?”  I choked up and my voice changed to a whisper in a lower register, a tear falling on the keys. I was learning to play this beautiful piece by Laura Story on the piano, but I could never get all the way through singing the words before they hit that raw, vulnerable part of my heart and I started crying from deep within my soul.

There had been, in fact, more than a thousand sleepless nights in my life at that stage, mostly in the past 4 years. My pillow, and the stuffed polar bear Gundy I had kept on my bed since I was a child, were routinely soaked not from an all-out bawling, but slow tears- the ones that burn as they well up, slide down your face one after another, seeming to never end. Tears of resignation, sadness words cannot define, and a loss of hope in life, in myself, in God.

I was going through my Dark Night of the Soul. I call it mine because I hold onto it as a belonging. Though I’d read about this occurrence in the lives of others, and vaguely knew of its existence from literature I’d read in my past, simply knowing that others experience times of immense internal suffering did not offer any consolation. And yet, deep down something told me that, even this time of despair, was a gift meant for me. This time wasn’t dropped on my doorstep on accident, nor did I stumble here by mistake. I won’t share all the details of this time, but it was one with incredible heartache, deep and unfixable disappointments, immense unrelenting physical and emotional pain, and complete loss of self and hope for restoration.

The phrase comes from the sixteenth century writings of a brilliant Carmelite monk named John who lived in Spain.  After devoting his life to reforming the church, and being heavily chastised and mistreated for it, he eventually wound up in prison.  There in confinement, with his dreams lost, he wrote what would later become his most famous piece: The Dark Night of the Soul. 

The words speak of how God changes us not just through His light, scriptural guidance, the love of others and joy, but through heartache, grief, confusion, disappointment, and loss.

As John described it, the dark night of the soul is not simply the experience of suffering. It is suffering in what feels like the silence of God.

There are too many great works on this occurrence for me to dive into reasonably eloquent explanation and hope to do it justice. Writings by John Ortberg, RC Sproul, and many other gifted Christian authors go into great detail and pull from scripture in ways I cannot yet do. 

But it’s an important phenomenon that shouldn’t be dismissed by any coach or therapist, and certainly not avoided. Many individuals, especially as they begin to let go of a past that did not serve them in the way they had hoped yet had clung onto, will go through a chapter (not seldom lasting many years) where it seems the sun will never again rise in life.

Ortberg’s explanation reassures us that the dark night is not the fault of our soul. It is ordained by God. Certainly you may not be devoting yourself to growing your walk with God, working to better yourself and your life, or working on your physical healing. These can obviously make you feel detached from hope and direction, and discouraged. But this isn’t what the dark night is about. It’s not a place you put yourself. It’s a place God brings you to for change. Because… it’s the only way.

I’m not by any means at all suggesting that everyone who struggles with disordered eating, dieting, body image issues, and emotional trauma will go through a dark night. Nor is it necessary. For many individuals editing their story is simply about changing up macros, talking through life changes, making goals and having support on the journey.

But I am proposing that, especially for those individuals who have struggled a very long time, it is not unusual for the surface-level manifestations of internal distress to be masquerading a much deeper yearning of the soul. Often the night falls when we start to look around inside. When we start to ask why. When we become not okay with being not okay. 

It is not clear why this happens to some and not others. Nor are God’s reasons made clear anywhere in scripture. We only know that He allows this, uses this for our good, and that dark nights never last forever.

John of the Cross, writing from his prison cell, says in the dark night the soul is pained but not hopeless. “God’s love is not content to leave us in our weakness, and for this reason He takes us into a dark night. He weans us from all of the pleasures by giving us dry times and inward darkness…. No soul will ever grow deep in the spiritual life unless God works passively in that soul by means of the dark night.” 

The Dark Night of the Soul, he explained, was referring to a feeling of immense suffering and feeling of separation from God, even though scripture tells us that He is always with us. Even our feelings and sense of Gods presence and direction, His allowance for us to see where He is taking us and his provision of peace on the journey, are given by Him. Or not. Thankfully our feeling does not dictate the journey, nor even the truth.

So it is should you go through a dark night in your journey of recovery from disordered eating or trying to rewrite the food chapter of your story. It can be lonely and disorienting. Often we cannot see where we are going, and feel painfully alone even in the midst of those who care for us most.

During these times, may it be your dark night of the soul, or a period of nightfall as you navigate the road of recovery and health, your job is to wait patiently. Remember that you are not God. Hold on. Ask for help. Resign. Reflect. And rest. Look at the stars around you. Dig deep within. The beautiful thing about a dark night is that we can fully expose our inner most flaws, and no one but God can see them. 

You cannot run in the dark. So stop trying to hurry through it. Wait on the dawn. It will come.

Should you wish for a friend to walk next to you through these lonely times, though I cannot navigate your journey of soul searching for you, I have been there. I can offer companionship, and help with the things God is asking you to work on during this time, such that when the light returns, beauty and wholeness is waiting to be revealed. Reach out, take my hand.