Originally published on the Baloo Living sleep blog, The Curl Up.
At the time, it made absolutely no sense to me.
One night in 2012, I just stopped sleeping.
Not only did it not make sense, but it made me angry and filled with an incomprehensible feeling of failure.
The Backstory
I am a sleep consultant. Across the last two decades, I have helped thousands of families get their sleep-deprived children to sleep through the night. I had always been a brilliant sleeper myself, and then, poof, just like that, I, too, was in a sleep-deprived despair.
I believe in sleep like a magical elixir. I deeply value the comfort of my bed and the benefits of a well-rested night. Sleep is the secret sauce to everything: mind, body, and soul.
I practiced what I preached. Across the years, I fine-tuned my sleep habits and cultivated a brilliant sleep sanctuary. I prioritized sleep. I mindfully chose my soft white duvet. I had perfectly measured blackout shades, removed all electronics from my bedroom, and ditched my clock. Sleep was my BFF. I had seen the benefits firsthand with my clients in my sleep consultation practice and at home with my children.
Like in the story of the Princess and the Pea, I was sleep-aware and could tell the difference between seven hours of sleep and my desired eight hours. I was not a morning bird and never wanted to wake up before six a.m.
I did not sleep well in college, but none of us did. Not sleeping felt normal and doable. College was a sleepless culture; we went out, stayed up, or pulled an all-nighter until the sun rose and went to class with a strong cup of black coffee and a muffin for breakfast.
As a young adult, I never thought about sleep, definitely never measured it, and without a doubt, I did not use sleep as a litmus test for my self-worth if I lacked sleep. If I did not sleep, it always felt like a choice I had made and no big deal.
My sleep shifted a bit more as I got older. I accepted the fact that I was not sleeping well when I got pregnant with my first son; it was logical, as my belly was gigantic with a tiny human being, and I was a preferred tummy sleeper.
I did not panic during those first weeks with my newborn and severe sleep deprivation. I was a bit tortured, yes, but I was a child sleep consultant, and I knew we would all be sleeping through the night in no time.
It was not until that night in 2012 that my sleep confidence came to a crashing halt.
The Wake-Up Call
I had received a phone call from my mother. She was oddly quiet but managed to tell me she had been diagnosed with leukemia. I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach, and a wave of sadness and nausea came over me. My mother made no indication on the call that she was dying. We did not speak about death, but in my gut, I knew we were staring at the beginning of the end of her life.
I went to bed that night and experienced the first of many sleepless nights. I lay quietly in the dark, tossing and turning, fitful and full of fear. When I was finally able to close my eyes, I had a terrible dream: In the dream, I was inside my childhood apartment in New York City. I stood in each room and methodically memorized and indexed everything around me. Deep inside my heart, I knew she would never return to this home again, and neither would I. Somehow, remembering every inch became my job.
The following morning, I woke up exhausted. I was never really asleep. My mind was like a computer in overdrive. I could not turn my brain off, and I judged myself for being incapable of helping myself.
I was now a sleep expert with a shameful sleep secret as my insomnia continued for the next year. I would stay awake at night, visualizing and replaying every worst-case scenario, not only about my mother's imminent death but about pretty much everything I could possibly worry about. Waking up sleepless and exhausted became my new normal as I headed off each day to help my clients get the sleep they needed and deserved. I felt as though I was living in a lie.
After a year passed, I decided I had had enough. I turned my focus to what I knew to be true: that I knew how to sleep, and I needed to stop listening to the fearful thoughts telling me that I didn’t. Building on the knowledge I gleaned from being a child sleep consultant for more than two decades, I began to uncover a holistic whole-person approach to address the mystery of the sleep-deprived adult.
My Return to Sleep
The sleep-deprived adult who believes they have insomnia not only feels exhausted but feels isolated, hopeless, and afraid, trapped in negative thought patterns and false beliefs. Our thoughts are powerful, and the words we use to describe and label ourselves are powerful. Most do not realize our negative beliefs create our reality. If you believe you can’t sleep, you will not be able to get out from under the rubble of that negative identity.
Thoughts tend to be unkind if you feel you are failing something you should be able to do. When you are awake at night and are desperate to be asleep, you need to become an active participant in your newly renovated positive sleep story.
I had gotten myself stuck in a negative thought pattern. I fought against my sleep deprivation instead of embracing it; we were on different teams. No part of me accepted my sleep situation. I had zero empathy or compassion, and I judged myself harshly.
I discovered, through many sleepless nights, that radical acceptance of what is happening in the present moment is the only way to allow sleep to unfold. Worry, stress, fear, a doubtful mind, and a stress-filled mind will always work against you, and the most critical piece to be mindful of is self-judgment.
Self-judgment is the glue that keeps us from getting a good night's rest.
You are not your insomnia. Don’t give a sleepless night your power. Don’t hand your self-esteem to sleeplessness or perceived failure—act as if, no matter what—act as if you are sleeping well. Radically accept what is, shift your mindset, practice self-loving thoughts, stay out of the judgment of your sleep, do not speak negatively about your sleep, and act as if you are the best sleeper on the planet. As tall of an order as that seems, believing you cannot sleep takes more energy than doing the opposite.
My mother did pass away. I grieved and miss her every day. However, instead of having the sadness derail my sleep, I choose to remember a great story about her before I go to sleep.
The Secret Sauce of Sleep
What I took away from this experience: while sleep is the secret sauce to a joyful and healthy life, self-love and non-judgment are the secret sauce to sleep.
We all have stresses, losses, and perceived failures that keep us awake at night. We may fall into bad habits - habits that can always be changed. Accepting and loving yourself through hard times will allow you to sleep.
I have worked with countless clients to fine-tune their sleep and overcome insomnia. I co-create with them customized plans that incorporate many elements that support sleep (e.g., nutrition, water, bedtime routines, supplements, behavior modifications, exercise, weighted blankets, and white noise machines). But the fundamental foundation of my work comes back to the secret sauce: non-judgment and self-love.
If you are struggling with insomnia, you are not alone, and I am here to help. Please book a chat with me to learn more about how I can help you get the sleep you need and deserve.
Comments