If you find yourself tossing and turning at night, you’re definitely not by yourself. Many of us are grappling with sleep disruptions lately.
As I lay in bed at 3 a.m., staring at the spinning blades of my ceiling fan, an overwhelming emptiness washes over me. Thoughts from the day—like the unsettling sight of children masked up while grocery shopping—creep back in. It’s hard to believe we are living through a pandemic, yet here we are. The sight of individuals strutting around without masks, completely disregarding social distancing guidelines, makes my heart sink. How did we reach a point where so many openly reject scientific guidance? If even top institutions like Harvard deem it unsafe to reopen until 2021, shouldn’t that raise alarm bells for the rest of us? I worry for my immunocompromised friends, and the uncertainty of the future keeps me awake.
Despite being a natural night owl, my sleep has become even more erratic since the pandemic began and my children’s schools transitioned to remote learning. Frequently, I find myself awake long past midnight after settling my 14- and 10-year-olds. The calm hours after they finally sleep are ironically when I feel most awake and creative. It’s often close to 2 a.m. by the time I reluctantly turn off my bedside lamp, only to have my mind race with worries as I try to drift off.
If it weren’t for my alarm set for 9:25 a.m., I could easily sleep in until noon. Some mornings, I wake up, let the dog out, and then fall back asleep, waking up later feeling guilty for wasting time. I remind myself that I have the luxury of free time, yet I find it difficult to make the most of it. My kids’ sleep patterns aren’t much better; they often sleep in, delaying their schoolwork until I nudge them awake.
I understand the science behind circadian rhythms and their crucial role in our health, influencing everything from mood to metabolism. Disruptions in our sleep can have far-reaching impacts. That’s why I try to keep my alarm set, aiming for some semblance of consistency in my sleep schedule, but it feels like an uphill battle. I know this fatigue stems from a deeper source—grief. I’ve read that grief can be exhausting and can mess with your mental state. I remind myself that it’s okay to feel this way, but admitting I’m grieving feels uncomfortable. After all, I’m fortunate in many ways.
Yet, acknowledging my privileges doesn’t ease my restless nights or fatigue. I rely on coffee and guilt to motivate me through the day. Exercise helps, and I’m making an effort to establish a routine because I know it can benefit my sleep. While I strive to create healthier sleep habits, I must also accept that I may, in fact, be grieving.
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In summary, if your sleep schedule is off, know you’re not alone. Many are facing similar struggles, and it’s important to practice self-compassion during these challenging times.