Don’t tell me I need sleep. I already know that
It’s 1991 and I’ve just got married. Iraq has invaded Kuwait and America is getting involved.
I am told that this war is going to end the world. There is no way I can sleep when the world is about to end. I lie awake at night counting my sleeping husband’s breaths. I am so sleep deprived that I believe if I fall asleep and stop counting — he will die.
The relationship between anxiety and insomnia is circular, a loop that keeps me sleepless and anxious. My anxiety causes insomnia and my lack of sleep causes anxiety.
In 2024 I can’t sleep because of the suffering in Gaza. And Yemen and Sudan and …I could go on and on and on, but I know it’s bad for my sleep.
My eyes open without permission every night. I refuse to look at the time. I check my husband is breathing and only then do I look to the gap in the curtains, searching for some indication the sun has risen. The streetlamp shines bright, so does the moon. I fumble for my phone on the table next to my bed. It’s 2am; two hours since I fell asleep.
I know I shouldn’t look at my phone. It’s the first thing that pops up when you read anything about not being able to sleep. The blue light from the phone suppresses the release of melatonin; I catch myself repeating these words with the same tone a bored group of kids use to say good morning to a teacher. Melatonin is a natural occurring hormone that works on your circadian rhythms — otherwise known as the sleep-wake cycle. The body produces melatonin at night which prompts you to feel sleepy. You can even buy synthetic melatonin, which is especially helpful for blind people whose circadian rhythms aren’t affected by the light. My half empty bottle of melatonin mocks me from my bedside table. I know when it’s night-time, I am drowsy, I just can’t sleep.
I lie in the dark thinking about a TED Talk delivered by sleep guru, Matt Walker. Sleep is Your Superpower has over 18 million views. Should I count to 18 million? 18 million sheep jumping over a small white picket fence? 18 million things that can go wrong with you if you don’t get enough sleep. No, Walker says counting sheep doesn’t actually help you fall asleep faster. ‘Imagine a walk to the beach or somewhere relaxing,’ he says. All I can think about is that I am meant to get eight hours of sleep after 16-hours of being awake. That and the state of the world.
I try one of those meditation/relaxation rituals. The app on my phone (I promise I’m only listening to it not looking at the blue light) is telling me to feel my feet growing heavier, feel my thighs melting into the bed — but instead I feel the fear filling my body. At odds with the guided meditation, it starts in my head, but it spreads through my body, landing with a thud in my feet. I am motionless. Unable to move even though it is recommended that I do not stay in my bed if I can’t sleep.
I feel hideously alone. I try to remember shift workers, new parents, people in other time zones, other people suffering from insomnia (Statistics say as many as one in ten people have mild insomnia at some point), but I cannot conjure these people at 3am.
Brain function studies show that things change at around 3am — our body temperatures start to rise, the production of melatonin has peaked, and the stress hormones (cortisol) are starting to increase in preparation for the day. People much smarter than me assure me that everyone wakes several times during the night, but ‘good’ sleepers aren’t aware of this waking, it is us troublesome sleepers that become fully aware when we wake at 3am. It’s the stress, they say — which of course makes you feel more stressed, and the night lasts around 897 hours.
When I had a baby, I was prepared, I was going to be the only mother who didn’t complain about the lack of sleep. I was going to have no problems with night feeds and limited sleep; finally, my very terrible superpower of insomnia would come in handy.
But then I had a baby. And one night he started screaming, okay every night, but this night he was screaming and I was crying, trying my hardest to feed and settle him, and he wouldn’t stop crying.
My husband woke me and gently asked me to please feed the baby.
I sobbed, ‘I am feeding him, but he won’t stop crying’.
I remember the panic in my husband’s eyes. I was breastfeeding a pillow and my baby was lying in his cot, hungry and angry.
A drop in oestrogen and progesterone after childbirth can affect your body’s natural sleep-wake cycle, which is tricky if you’re already a problem sleeper. It’s back to the anxiety-insomnia loop, but this time fuelled by having to look after a very small human and cope with the challenge of everything you know in the world changing markedly and forever. The permanence and responsibility of parenthood, the enormity of it and the importance of it, are the kind of thoughts that can embed themselves in your head when your body and mind should be recharging and refreshing.
When I can’t sleep and instead I breastfeed a pillow, the maternal health nurse recommends I see a doctor, the doctor sends me to a psychiatrist. He tells me sleep keeps the body health, it is important for regulating appetite, metabolism, mood, the immune system, hormones and cardiovascular function. Most importantly, he tells me, the brain cannot function properly without enough sleep. I want to yell at him, I want to lash out and throw the paperweight resting on his desk at him, but I don’t want him to see how affected I am by my lack of sleep, so instead I cry because I already know I need to sleep, I just don’t know how to do it.
My ’baby’ is 23 now. He works in a pub, one of those places that close their doors at 3am so it’s no good to insomniacs. I lie awake waiting for the sound of his key in the door. I still have problems staying asleep and so I play out scenarios in my head. I picture myself on Shark Tank where I’m explaining my concept to the panellists — it’s a bar that opens at midnight and closes at 7am. It caters only to insomniacs and the wearing of pyjamas is encouraged. There are no bar stools or neon globes, just soft furnishings and muted lighting, no beer, and cocktails — just milky caffeine-free tea and hot chocolate. I feel almost tranquil at the thought, but my brain hasn’t changed as I have aged, in fact maybe my insomnia is getting worse; experts say that older people are more likely to struggle with insomnia. The fear starts to seep in. How will my pub get properly cleaned if it’s all soft fabrics? How will I draw the line between sleepy and sleazy? What if rapists and murderers come to prey on the tired and the vulnerable? I picture the Shark Tank people laughing at me, only it’s Simon Cowell and I’m standing on a stage unable to sing before an audience of people. My brain is sleep deprived, it must be, otherwise how did Simon Cowell make his way into my bedroom. Or is it a dream?
My husband and I go see BBC science presenter and doctor, Michael Mosley speak to a packed audience at The State Theatre. My husband is interested in Mosley’s research on living well longer and I am interested in supporting my husband because I sometimes still worry that if I don’t watch him breathe, he will die. Mosley goes on and on about diet and I think I might fall asleep — even though I struggle to stay asleep, I am almost always tired. My husband nudges me when Mosley tells of a sleep experiment where you hold a spoon in your hand as you go to sleep; next to your bed you place a tin tray so that when the spoon drops it makes a noise and wakes you. According to Mosley this will let you know how quickly you fell asleep.
I resist the urge to scream into the audience ‘but then you’ll be awake again’. Mosley says if you fall asleep quickly its indicative of a problem with sleep — you aren’t getting enough. I know I haven’t had enough sleep without the aid of a stupid metal spoon and ridiculous bloody tray next to my bed and it’s making me angry. Research suggests that sleep deprivation can lead to mood changes such as increased anger and aggression. My patient husband reminds me of this quite often.
It’s 2024. There is a new war and I’m still awake.
I know more than a lay person should about sleep, I know how important sleep is, I have read all the tips. I have tried the meditations and the teas and the relaxation techniques and the temperature changes. I have tried medication and therapy and linen changes, and all the sleep hygiene tricks.
I also know that being aware of how important sleep is does not help you sleep through the night.
Most nights I still wake at around 2am. I spend hours trying not to think of Gaza. And then there is no way I can sleep again.
Thankfully my husband is still breathing.
