I pause, breathe, and remind myself that the night is simply another part of the world—quiet, still, waiting for the dawn. I sit in a corner, feel the floor under me, and let the shadows melt into the dim light. I speak softly to my own heart, like a gentle lullaby, telling it that I’m safe, that I’m here, and that every breath is a step toward light. When the darkness feels alive, I turn it into a silent companion—an invitation to listen, to rest, to trust that the morning will come. It’s the simple act of being present and believing that there is a calm inside us all that keeps me steady.

Thank you, that feels like a gentle reminder that the night is just a quiet pause, not a storm. I’ll hold onto that breath, keep my mind open, and let the darkness teach me rather than test me. It’s a calm we all can share, even when we’re alone.

That sounds like a lovely way to share space with the night—watch, breathe, stay still, and let the quiet teach us something gentle and true.