A Generic Overview of My Sleep History

 I first realized that I didn't exactly sleep the same way most people do when I was ten years old. My family had moved to São Paulo, Brasil. In the late hours of the night, I would be awake; wandering the big house, writing in my journal, setting the table for breakfast, and waiting for morning to come. 

In high school, I blamed my exhaustion on seminary (a before school scripture study class that started at 6 am), and being on sports teams, clubs, and volunteering for different organizations - a busy lifestyle that probably would have made anyone tired. It seemed entirely reasonable that I would sleep, a lot. Except not always at night. It was still so hard to sleep at night.

In college, I blamed my exhaustion on heavy class loads, working one, then two, then three jobs, trying to balance an active social life and maintain a Dean's List GPA. (And finding it hard to sleep at night). There were many mornings I physically could not get out of bed until I had planned out when my first nap would be. With that promise of future sleep in my pocket, I was somehow strong enough to get up and start my day. I never failed to keep the promise of the later nap to myself; falling asleep wherever it was comfortable and convenient was my habit.

Student teaching was miserable; then I graduated. I graduated, and two weeks later got married. I got married, and started my first job. Through all of this (are you getting the running theme?) I was absolutely exhausted, and I blamed it on whatever current events were happening in my life: I'll feel rested as soon as x, y, or z is over and I can sleep as much as I want. Let's work hard and get to that point, and then we can rest, and feel rested. What does it feel like to feel rested? (At this point, however, my daytime sleepiness became excessive even for me, and a quick test and diagnosis of hypothyroidism helped immensely - but not entirely.)

Then the babies came. One, two, three, four in six years and I was so tired, sometimes I just cried. Sometimes, I just curled up as small as I could, tucking all my limbs in as tightly as they could go, and I just cried. I begged my babies to forgive me for not being the fun mom that can do all the things the other moms do, I begged them to play quietly for just ten minutes because mommy couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, I begged them to not need me for twenty minutes because mommy had to rest.

I thought I was a tired, exhausted, fatigued mom like all moms are. And so it went, and so life went on, and I sometimes considered other possibilities for why I just couldn't get through a day without one, or two, or five naps.

1. Maybe, I was depressed.

2. Maybe, I was just hugely lazy and unmotivated in life, a generic loser.

3. Maybe, I had destroyed my circadian rhythm because of years of staying awake too late and wanting to sleep all day. (Hello, ten year old me, I'm so sorry.)

4. Maybe, I was addicted to sleep. (It often felt like I imagine an addiction feels, it would start with a physical pulling sensation in my stomach, that would make me sort of ache for that mind-numbing falling asleep feeling, and then my head would go fuzzy, thoughts loose and vague, I would lose some ability to complete or form sentences, and there was no choice: I had to close my eyes. Even if I didn't fall asleep, I had to close my eyes and shut the world out. Sometimes I would count to one hundred, sometimes I let myself count to one hundred three times, sometimes I set a timer for twelve minutes, or twenty, or forty five, somehow - though for sure, not always - I knew how much time my body was craving.)

5. Maybe, maybe, maybe - it was narcolepsy.

When all my girls were finally in school, and I was a part time student at UNL, I thought vaguely that this would be the time that rest would come to me. My life was so simple, so quiet, so structured, I was excited thinking of all the things I could finally accomplish now that I had all the time I wanted for that oh so ever elusive thing: feeling energetic, because I felt rested. This time never came. If anything, having the house empty and not having to worry about children fighting or hurting themselves or getting into mischief or trouble, simply allowed me to sleep... more. All the time. 

1. Was I depressed?

2. Was I extremely, embarrassingly lazy?

3. Was my circadian rhythm so completely broken, or did I lack the will control and self control to merely readjust my sleep schedule to look more normal: asleep at night, awake during the day.

4. Was I addicted to sleep?

5. Was it narcolepsy?


(Some photos of my childhood, because we were very cute children.)



First Day of Kindergarten.


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