I sleep shitfully. Fitfully. I have since I was seven. Sleep is a deeply awkward ordeal that requires artful management. It’s not a blissful relinquishing for me.
(For your entertainment, I previously shared a video demonstrating some of the intricate equipment involved in this management.)
A few of you have asked that I start a bit of a thread here, where we can share our experiences, theories, but mostly some consolations. To cope with, and maybe even thrive with, sleeplessness requires some hefty panning back and philosophising. Broad, wise comforts are the only salve, I feel. Shall we bandy about a few?
I know insomnia to be the most lonely experience in the world. In the moment, when you’re awake, and the rest of the world is asleep, an overwrought soul can feel in freefall. Lying awake next to someone who is sound asleep is entirely alienating. Truth be known, I have not been able to sleep next to another human for more than 15 years. I remain too aware of their throbbing aliveness and too perplexed by their natural ability to sink into oblivion. Are you seriously able to drift off with me, this fretting buzz, next to you? I know others are the same, but few of us talk about it. Feel free to here.
In First, We Make the Beast Beautiful I share a few thoughts on insomnia, starting with this cruel irony: Anxious people need more sleep than the average person, and yet it eludes us, which makes us more anxious. And so on.
I’d looked at a number of theories and clumped them together into this theorem:
And I draw on Alain de Botton’s wisdom:
More recently - as in, the past few weeks here in Europe - I’ve vigilantly focused on choosing not to get worked up, both in the night and the next day as I grapple with the following symptoms, which are not inconsequential (due to my autoimmune disease; another cruel irony - insomnia is a symptom and trigger of Hashimoto’s):
irascibility
a “hangover-ish” ache in every joint
skin on fire (the skin on my stomach, feet, hands and lips burns)
right eye “goes down” (I struggle to see from it)
swollen feet and calves
brain fog
I’ve also developed a consoling framing, a meta-purpose, that stops me from sinking into the helplessness of it all. It’s been working, actually. This is she:
I choose to see my insomnia as an opportunity to access rawness.
In this rawness I am gentler and I am able to feel the pain of humanity. Which proves useful for writing and for relating to a new city and new people.
In the rawness I am also forced to get quite mercenary with my priorities. The above symptoms render me unable to veer too far from what matters in any given instant. I can’t respond to all the emails, I can’t help everyone who reaches out to me, I can’t meet the deadlines, I can’t read all the hyperlinks.
I have to get firm around my boundaries and expectations. My insomnia hones things.
And perhaps my psyche knows that this is precisely what I need right now. And so it pushes me to this particular edge.
I have one other experimental reflection, in part prompted by the conversation I had with my dear friend Yumi who I rang when I was fretting at 2am last week. It was some reasonable hour back in Australia. She suggested I give in to the fact that I would be awake all night and to maximise the situation - listen to podcasts, write in a journal, wander about a bit. This felt a bit kind of recalcitrant. Which brings me to:
Insomnia can also - if we choose - be a wonderful disrupter.
The usual way (of trying to sleep, trying to stay sane) doesn’t work once you’re in an insomniac spiral. And so the only avenue available is to f*ck up the order of things a bit. We are forced to get discordant and do things back to front, at the wrong time, and to be slightly inappropriate. Because what else is there? This insomnia beast can inspire a playfulness that brings us closer to our unique preferences and quirks. I did what Yumi suggested and it shook things up enough to see my nervous system settle after a while. And I got a few hours’ sleep (albeit after taking a second valium). Below is my chat with Yumi two days later. I was still shaking things up.
Other insomniacs out there - how do you console yourself? Do you have a framing?
And perhaps share this post with friends and family who can’t sleep.
I’ve written this post on very little sleep. I’m raw. I spent the day just going from one immediate task to the next. But then an upside-down openness did unfurl. I wound up at a terrace restaurant talking to two young guys who work in “the meta-verse” who were planning out how to disclose some ugly information. I caught up with an old lover who is lending me his apartment for a few days. On it goes…
Sarah xx
First thing, your friend Yumi is spot on with her advice, which I do often, and secondly, her message response to you made me crack up laughing first thing of a morning, which is the best start to any day, so cheers Yumi.
I've tried a lot of things but nothing has ever really hit the mark.
Push-ups till collapse, making scones, music, star gazing, podcasts.
I do totally relate to the theory of being secure or cuddling up with somebody helping.
Being content in not being content is what I tell myself. Busy brain asking more why's than how's at 3am is a hard thing to shut down.
All fellow insomniacs marvel in wonder at friends they know that just go to bed at 8:30 and sleep right through.
And it's funny that most insomniacs always seem to find partners to sleep with who can do that.
For years I'd joke I wanted to open a volunteer bakery where all insomniacs could wander in at 2am and knock up some Danish pastries or a baguette just to let our minds focus on that one task and with the smell of fresh bread, wander back home to bed.
Perimenopause sucks. My cortisol is sky high at the wrong time. I take so many pills, mostly natural, to sleep but they don't see me through. Some days it's 2am mostly 3am. I'm expected to drive to work and back, maintain focus at an office job and pretend my tired eyes are not burning. At 2am I ponder how other women make peri look like no big deal. I've tried HRT but it didn't help. I was a good sleeper till around age 40. Now at 45 it's been 2 solid years of insomnia. Hugs to you x