For years, I’ve known I should sleep more. I like working out in the morning, so I (try to) get up early. I shake off evening tiredness and procrastinate sleep, because I used to be most productive in those hours after the kids went to bed. Now, they are productive, and I’m generally reading or putzing around online or trying to find a snack that sounds snacky but isn’t four billion calories.
I wouldn’t say I’m productive at night anymore.
When I started taking Lexapro, one of my main side effects is fatigue. Yet, I don’t think that’s the only reason I’m tired. I think part of what I thought was a need for less sleep was my anxiety keeping me awake, keeping my mental and physical motors churning, even while my emotional motor was whirling with a mind of it’s own. (Too many unfinished metaphors. It’s ok. It’s only a blog no one reads except the dust motes in the room with me.)
My age is a whole other post. Dear friends have warned me my inner sleep clock would start to collect all those missed hours at some point. I didn’t want to believe anyone who told me that. I don’t want to believe I can’t control the cortisol levels in my body without sleep. I like those extra minutes each day.
This Sunday, Abbey returned from an amazing school trip that took her to Boston and New York City before coming home, delivered through the night on a plane that taxied to the gate at 11:45 p.m. By the time we collected luggage (all of the kids had to check because of a lack of space) and dropped off friends, we didn’t roll into our driveway until basically 2:00 a.m. I didn’t fall asleep right away, partially from adrenaline and partially from Diet Coke, but I had to get up in the morning to take Dylan to school — we let her sleep — and to get myself to work.
I dragged the rest of the day, though my Monday workday is only a half day. I tried to nap and couldn’t. Wandered the house like a phantom. Tried again and napped, the twenty minute break leaving me more bleary eyed than revitalized.
I need to sleep more. At night. In my bed.
I’m ready to concede defeat to the idea that I can, indeed, function productively on five hours a sleep (or even six).
I don’t think it’s going to be easy for me to go to bed at 10:00 or 10:30, because the kids are still awake at those hours now. It means Ryan will be the one to do the final, “time to hand over your phone” goodnight hug. I already miss reading or just sitting, wrapped in a blanket, in a quiet house, the darkness surrounding our family and keeping us safe.
It won’t be easy for me, but I have to try. I’m tired of feeling foggy and a little lazy, living many of my hours in a state that isn’t quite powered on but isn’t asleep.
We’ll see how this goes.
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