For ten years—since 2013—I’ve gone to bed every night with the TV on.
Not softly, either. Full-volume, people-talking-over-each-other kind of TV.
The West Wing. The Good Fight. That kind of thing. Because silence felt unsafe. Because rest felt unsafe. Because I didn’t know how to be alone with myself.
Until last night.
Last night, I slept in a space I fina…