We spend our lives shunning shadows, fleeing from the night within us as though it were some spectral foe. But what if the darkness we avoid holds the secret to our growth?
For years, darkness was my relentless pursuer. From my angst-ridden teens through my insecure twenties, and well into my unsettled thirties as a first-time divorcée, I grappled with a depression so deep that it nearly claimed my life. I fought against it with everything—from Prozac to Prosecco, cigarettes to ceaseless distractions—but in the fury of the flight, I learned a truth: the darkness I was trying to escape was not my enemy, but a misunderstood guide.
The scars of intergenerational trauma—etched into my DNA from ancestors who survived the Armenian Genocide—marked me with a predisposition to feel this darkness more acutely. The legacy of such historical wounds can weigh heavily, imbuing descendants like me with a heightened sensitivity and sense of sorrow that may seem disproportionate to others.
At the same time, there’s a part of me that can hardly believe I’m still here. It feels as though my ancestors, who endured unimaginable hardships, willed me to survive. More than once, on the brink of succumbing to the abyss, I sensed their presence, pulsing through my veins to pull me back from the edge. Each time I teetered close to the end, I could almost hear them whispering, insisting it wasn’t my time—that the choice of my life’s end was not mine to make. Until finally, I came to the realization that I could either live my days shrouded in despair or choose to embrace the life that was evidently meant for me.
Survival is not merely a choice but an instinct, a calling. It became clear that I was destined to remain on this earth much longer than I had once believed. Against my assumption that I would die an early death, here I was, still alive and compelled by some unseen force to continue. And if my existence was guaranteed, then the quality of that existence became my new battleground. I chose to strive for a life not just endured, but richly lived.
However, without the all-enveloping gloom that had characterized my earlier years, I would never have understood what it meant to truly appreciate life. Those years of darkness, though harrowing, taught me about resilience, about the great depths of human emotion, and about the possibility of rising from ashes and emerging into light. It was within this dark soil that the seeds of a brighter, more intentional life were sown.
In my darkest times, demons whispered of self-destruction, keeping me up at night with a firm grip on my sanity and consciousness. Years of insomnia twisted my thoughts, turning each silence into a deafening roar. Every attempt to fall asleep became a battle for my soul, where the line between bending and breaking blurred with each restless hour.
But over time, armed with years of therapy, personal growth exercises, and a commitment to leading a balanced, healthy lifestyle, I learned not just to confront these shadows but to engage with them. I learned to dance with the devil, but now, I take the lead and meet its gaze unflinchingly, recognizing it as a part of my journey towards overcoming my fears and achieving my highest potential.
Now, when the darkness looms, I no longer seek to evade it. Instead, I buckle up and stand my ground. I have discovered that each encounter with my inner night strengthens me, hones my resilience, and expands my understanding of who I am and what I’m capable of. These battles are lessons in disguise, teaching me to harness my trials, turmoil, and tribulations, and turn them into stepping stones.
To those who find themselves locked in similar struggles, learn to see your dark not as a pit, but as a passage. It challenges us to grow, to evolve, and to emerge not despite it but because of it. So, embrace your dark periods. Let them teach you. Let them transform you. And remember, like Florence said to The Machine: “It’s always darkest before the dawn”.
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Listen to Sheila’s personal reading of “Let There Be Dark”.
Sheila Paylan is an international human rights lawyer and former legal advisor to the United Nations. Now based in Yerevan, she regularly consults for a variety of international organizations, NGOs, think tanks, and governments.
