Hello. How are you? Yeah, you’re fine, I know. So am I.

It’s the kind of fine where it’s the third time in four days that I wake up at 2:30 a.m. And no, it’s not Trump – or not just that. I’m sick, and in physical pain, and my heart is pounding and my mind racing.

Given that it’s a familiar routine at this point, I know I’ll lie there for a while trying to remember what the somatic therapist said I could do in these situations. Then, I’ll spend awhile trying to do it: hold one hand at the base of my head and the other on my forehead to reassure my nervous system and contain my anxiety, welcome and reassure the scared parts deep inside me and seek to learn from them rather than to shame or banish them, and . . . well, I can’t remember the rest at the moment.

"At the moment," at this moment, means 3:34 a.m. After a while, I did remember one of the very best pieces of advice I’ve obtained in the past several years, from an email marketing list about insomnia: Just get out of bed and give up trying to sleep.

And…

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