"You Need to Sleep Deprive Yourself"

Trust me, these are not the words an already sleep deprived person wants to hear (also, apologies… this is the most convoluted post I’ve ever shared—and I’m too tired to make it more sensible). 

For those of you that don’t know, I’ve been struggling with severe insomnia for nearly six years.  I was never a great sleeper to begin with, but when I became pregnant with Eli things went off the rails, never to return.

For awhile it was easy to justify: back-to-back pregnancies, a Sophie that wouldn’t sleep, a body that was out of whack once Sophie did finally begin to sleep.  It wasn’t until a year or so after Sophie started sleeping through the night that I truly began to wonder if I would ever sleep normally again.

There were many stages during this deepening awareness that, yes, I have a sleep disorder.  Frustration was the longest stage.  When you are so tired you can barely function and still cannot manage to stay asleep for longer than three hours at a stretch, well, it’s hard not to go bat-shit crazy.

These days, I am resigned to the whole thing.  When I finally caved earlier this year and asked my primary doctor for a prescribed sleep aid, it felt like total defeat.  I despise taking medications and figured it would do little to help me in the long run.

Four different prescriptions later I am taking a medication that does help the situation, a little.  After that initial visit, my primary care doctor was wise enough to schedule, without asking me, an appointment with a sleep specialist.  You know, cause there was a FOUR-MONTH wait to get in to see him and she figured I might find some use in it.  I shrugged, hoping the sleep meds would help enough to get me back on track so I could cancel the appointment before it rolled around.  Not sure where this optimism comes from... 

Four months later, the sleep specialist told me that staying on sleep aids forever wasn’t the best option, but I could do that if I wanted to.  Um, no.  After ruling out sleep apnea and a host of other sleep-related disorders, his next suggestion was to see a sleep psychologist.  I had no idea what this would entail.  His explanation: It’s going to be hard, and things will get worse for awhile, but nearly everyone has success going this route. 

Vague, but what the hell… I’m in.

To give you an idea of the timeline here, I went to see my primary care doctor in May, finally got the sleep aid I wanted (after having to guinea pig three others) in July, saw the sleep specialist in October, and had my first visit with the sleep psychologist at the beginning November.

Insurance snafus kept me from having my first follow-up appointment with the current doc for nearly two months, until this past Monday.

It’s a good thing I’m not exhausted and desperate for sleep.  Oh, wait…

So finally, this highly anticipated appointment rolls around. 

It takes all of 10 minutes and goes something like this:

Doc: From your sleep logs, it looks like on your best nights of sleep you get a little over six hours of sleep.

Me: That sounds about right.

Doc: But you’re often in bed for 9 or more hours.

Me: That sounds about right.

Doc: That’s a problem. 

Me: …

Doc: When you’re in bed that long and not asleep, and doing things like reading or drawing before you go to sleep, your body doesn’t associate your bed with sleeping.

Me: Okay. 

Doc: What time do you want to get up in the morning?

Me: Well, in a perfect world I’d never get out of bed before 8am.

Doc: No, you need to get up before your kids wake you up.  When would that be?

Me: Uh, I have two small kids.  There is no set wake-up time.  Right now it’s anywhere between 6:45 – 7:30, if I’m lucky.  Eli gets on jags where he wakes up before 6.

Doc: So, 6:30?

Me: I don’t want to get up at 6:30.

Now she’s getting visibly annoyed with me.  I shut it.

Doc: We need to figure out your wake-up time, so we can figure out your bedtime. 

Me: Okay.  If I wake up at 6:30?

Doc: Your bedtime would be 11:30.

Me: Oh… so 7:00 would make my bedtime-

Doc: Midnight.

I used to be a night owl.  Not anymore.  Most nights I’m in bed by 10:30, 11 at the latest.  I need to cash out in bed.  To rest, if not sleep.

Me: Well, I guess I’ll take the 6:30 wake-up.

Doc: Right now you rarely sleep for more than 6 hours per night.  So you shouldn’t be in bed much longer than that.  You need to sleep deprive yourself so your body knows that going to bed means sleep and nothing else.  You need to make yourself so tired that your body will learn to sleep during that time because it’s the only time it’s going to get.

DID THIS WOMAN JUST TELL ME TO MAKE MYSELF MORE TIRED?  What kind of operation was this?  Was there a hidden camera somewhere?  Were they trying to make me go off my rocker?  My deer-in-the-headlights look and lack of response must have signaled consent on my part, because she kept going.

Doc: It’s not going to be easy.  You’re going to feel worse for awhile.  But you’ve been sleep deprived for so long that it shouldn’t affect the way you function too much.  If it does, let me know.  But you should be fine.

Me: …

And that was pretty much the appointment.  I’ve waited seven months for someone to spell out something that feels, quite honestly, very basic, although very torture-like.

I came home equipped with more sleep logs, very specific instructions on what I MAY NOT DO in my bed, and both a sense of relief and dread.  Whenever there’s a plan, something else I can try, a new path, I feel relief because it means I haven’t actually tried everything and there is hope that things might improve.  However, this stay-up-late, don’t nap, and get-up-early plan was daunting.  I’m so tired already.  How was less rest going to help me?

I can’t tell you yet whether it’s helping me or not.  Now that my mind knows there is a schedule and I only have limited time to sleep, my nights have once again become quite restless.  Since my days start earlier and end later I feel like each day is its own marathon.  Around 4:30 in the afternoon, when I hit the worst slump of fatigue, all I can think is: Fuck!  I still have to be awake for SEVEN MORE HOURS.  How am I supposed to do that?  But then I do. 

And there’s this: Waking up before everyone in my house is really quite wonderful.  It would be even better if I could sneak downstairs and actually start my day without waking anyone (we live in an old, creaky-ass house, and although Eli could sleep through an air-horn in his room in the evening, in the morning hours he is the lightest little sleeper).  I have been instructed to get up IMMEDIATELY upon waking, so for now I’ve hauled my meditation cushion up to our room, and I’ll sit and catch up on news articles I wanted to read on my phone, dick around on Instagram, do yoga, meditate, and sometimes just sit in the quiet and listen to my family sleep. 

The doc was right that waking “on my own” (with an alarm, of course) versus being woken up by a needy little one would give my day a different start.  When Eli and/or Sophie stumble into our room I am ready and happy to greet them, instead of waving them off back to bed, grumbling about how I need more sleep.  If nothing else in this situation changes for the better, I am thankful for that little slice of improvement.

Where will I be in a couple weeks?  I have no idea, but I’ll keep you posted.  Also, for those of you suffering from insomnia I hope you find some useful advice in this post.  Maybe you can get this figured out much quicker than I have… waiting for medical advice you are desperate to receive isn’t a great feeling, to put it kindly.  I wish all of you many restful nights of slumber, and hope I can join you soon.

These Writing Snippets Aren't Cutting It

Hi.

I know, I know (I’m glad we got that out of the way).

So, I recently had the pleasure of spending a week in Maine.  Why Maine?  Well, last fall I applied to a writing residency I really, really wanted to get (lady writers, you’ll want to check out the Hedgebrook Writer’s Residency here).  While I waited to hear my fate I decided I needed a consolation prize in case I didn’t get it.  You see, friends,  I have barely written anything for myself in, oh, years.  I was starting to get nervous that I wasn’t a writer anymore.  Hell, I don’t call myself a Writer.  I say things like, “I do freelance writing and editing work.”  This is true.

It didn’t take long to scheme up an alternate plan:  I would invite myself to my friend Irene’s house for a week.  I hadn’t seen Irene since graduate school (2008), I’d never been to Maine, and I desperately needed some quiet time and space to write.  She was, thankfully, all in.

It felt good not to pin all my writing hopes on the residency.  Good thing. 

So off I went, to Maine. 

This all sounds easier than it was in reality.  I’ve never been away from the kids for more than three days, and even that began to feel long.  I knew this would be different, though, and it was.  I arrived in Maine on a Wednesday, and while I missed Vinny and the kids each day, it wasn’t until Sunday that the pull really began to take hold. 

But that’s not what I wanted to write about.

What I really wanted to tell you is that I’m still a writer.  I know, I wasn’t sure about it either. 

I want to gush. 

I want to tell you how magical it was: the time and space needed to allow your mind to unfold creatively, to rediscover a long-buried love, to talk shop with someone who knows your writing intimately, to scheme future publishing projects, to reacquaint yourself with long-abandoned projects only to see new potential, to get outdoors and breathe in that ocean-scented air, to take hikes, to linger.

To linger… 

Yes, that’s it right there.

This is perhaps the part of having children that is most confounding to me:  the pull between being present to properly care for little people, and having the time and space to linger in your own thoughts without being tugged in fifty other directions.

Lingering, for me, is crucial to creativity.  If I can’t live in the writing, roll around in it, talk about it, examine it from ninety different angles, well, it’s tough to get to the heart of it. 

A huge part of the problem is that because I write so sporadically, when I do finally find a little window of time to sit down and do the work, my brain freezes.  What do I do with this snippet of time?  Do I start something new?  Do I haul out that fucking screenplay again?  Do I do some research for a book I haven’t started so I don’t really have to write?  Do I organize my writing folders?  Do I make a list?  Do I…?  It’s overwhelming. 

This nasty spiral often continues for the entirety of the Writing Snippet.  And then it’s over, and I’ve usually accomplished nothing, and feel further dejected.   

To have a week to bask in it all was the biggest gift I’ve given myself in a long time.  It felt at once selfish and utterly necessary. 

Re-entry back into regular life has been harsh.  In the week I’ve been back, this is the first real time I’ve had to think—and quickly type—any writing-related reflections.  It’s discouraging.  I told Vinny my time in Maine felt like a tease.  I discovered that yes, it’s still there, only to have it pulled away again.  So I’m left to chase it. 

The difference is, I’m motivated to chase after it now. 

What does my ideal writing practice look like?  It looks like time carved out each day to write.  I kissed this ideal good-bye a long time ago.  At this point in my life it isn’t realistic.  And I’ve come to accept that. 

Here’s the thing:  I don’t wish time away.  Sure, I sometimes think about when the kids will both be in school, and hey, won’t it be nice to have part of a day at home to work on my writing?  Hell yes.  But then this daydream is quickly followed by the sobering fact that Eli will turn five this coming Halloween, and I begin to wonder how this is possible, the way time begins to move at lightning speed the moment those babes arrive.  Soon enough I will be alone far too often without them, and that will be difficult in different ways.

I left Maine with a list of short and long-term writing goals (thank you, Irene).  Three of my short-term goals will remain on a permanent list:

1.  FINISH a piece of writing.

(seriously, this is more difficult than it sounds)

2.  Submit it. 

3.  STOP distracting myself with BS tasks to avoid writing. 

My current plan is to carve out a 2-3 hour block of time once per week to work on my own writing.  I can make that time for myself.  I deserve that time.  I need that time.

We all do, mothers or not.  So do it.  Linger.

What Do YOU Need Today?

Hi.  Yes, I'm still here.  

I fell off the blogging wagon (again) for, well, a long time.  The last few months have seen a lot of changes on the home front (a total kitchen demo, a new job, little one back to school, the other in speech therapy - you know, life).  In the midst of trying to juggle a new-to-me schedule, job and an in-home construction zone, I floundered when it came time to care for myself.

This is nothing new, of course.  Even before I had kids, I was an expert when it came to putting the needs of others before my own.  Most of us are experts in this realm; sadly, it becomes second nature to neglect ourselves.  

Well, after years of doing this, my body let me know about it.  Hello, adrenal fatigue.  You suck.  

I've spent the last year + trying to integrate self-care into my daily life as I slowly recover from adrenal fatigue.  In theory this concept strikes me as basic enough, but when you start to delve into self-care, the things you “should” be doing to take optimal care of yourself—and let's face it: depending on what you read or care to believe in, this could be just about anything—well, it can become another stressor in your life.  Am I eating well enough?  Oh shit, I shouldn't have eaten that fourth crab rangoon before I mowed down that entree.  Am I exercising enough?  Does running up and down the stairs ten times a day chasing the kids count?  It should.  Am I getting enough sleep?  We all know answer to that.  

A couple weeks back I came across this article:  “Is Your Self-Care Regime Turning Into a Stressful Job? 3 Ways to Practice Optimal Self-Care”

Oh, boy.  Did this one resonate.  Mostly, this:  

Ask yourself first and foremost, "What do I need today?"  This is a simple yet oh-so-powerful question, because it acknowledges that you -- your mind and your body -- are the expert and know what's best. We all too often trust other people's advice more than we trust ourselves, when in reality each day is different. Some days you might need grounding energy. Other days you might need airy, light energy. Give yourself the freedom to adjust your self-care regime to meet you where you are. Especially for us women, it's important to be in tune with our monthly cycles and acknowledge that our body has different needs throughout the month.

*  *  *  *  *

I've already put this valuable suggestion into action.  A few weeks ago Vinny was heading to his folks to deliver some prints and take winter photos.  My mind saw an opportunity to be husband and kid-free for a long weekend… for the first time ever.  Ever.  We went back and forth on him taking the kids, but that question, "What do I need?" kept creeping in.  What I needed was a break.  Some quiet.  

So I asked for it.  And it happened.  It wasn’t the weekend I had hoped for.  One ice storm, leaky bathroom ceiling, and tumble down our back steps later, I was a bruised and sore mess.  Still, it was a break, one I mostly spent in pain on the couch watching terrible films.  I relished every minute.

Listening to what your body is trying to tell you isn’t as simple as it sounds, at least not at first.  During this process, I have also discovered another by-product of asking myself "What do I need?"  It means asking for help more than I normally would - which is almost never.  I am terrible at this, still.  I like to believe I can shoulder it all on my own because that's the way I've always been.  I'm stubborn and independent, a good combo in some situations, but certainly not all.

I don't do resolutions anymore, for lots of reasons.  The last few years I've shifted my focus to setting an intention or a creative goal instead of placing a limitation or unrealistic expectation on myself.  This year, I will continue to ask myself, "What do I need today?"  The simple act of asking has been transformative, and I hope it becomes a deep-rooted habit over time.  

What about you?  What do YOU need today?  Give yourself some time and space to figure it out.