At 3 a.m., I find myself lying in the dark, fixated on the spinning blades of my ceiling fan, an overwhelming sense of emptiness settling in my chest. The anxiety that started earlier in the day while I was out shopping—when I saw kids wearing N95 masks and their parents donning homemade cloth ones—comes rushing back. Is this really the world we live in? Are we truly amid a pandemic?
It’s disheartening to witness individuals proudly disregarding safety protocols, sporting American flag shirts without masks, blatantly ignoring social distancing guidelines. How did we reach a point where skepticism towards science is a badge of honor? If institutions like Harvard believe it isn’t safe to reopen until 2021, how concerned should the rest of us be? I can’t help but worry about my immunocompromised friends—what if they get sick when the economy reopens? What if they remain confined and too afraid to re-engage with society as the virus spreads again? The constant stream of “what ifs” keeps me awake, my mind spinning as I resist the pull of sleep.
I’ve long identified as a night owl, but since the pandemic began—and especially after my children’s schools transitioned to online learning—my sleep has become wildly erratic. It’s like a fickle beast, showing no respect for a routine. By the time I settle my 14- and 10-year-olds into bed around midnight or 1 a.m., I’m utterly drained, yet wide awake. That inevitable second wind hits me nightly. Before my anxious thoughts start their relentless cycle, I relish the calm of the night, free from pandemic news, meal preparations, or buzzing social media notifications. It’s my golden hour to write and indulge in snacks without sharing. But by the time I turn off my bedside lamp, it’s almost 2 a.m., and I’m once again staring at those whirling fan blades, stuck in a loop of nighttime anxiety.
If my alarm wasn’t set for 9:25 a.m., I’d likely sleep until noon. Some mornings, I wake up, let the dog out, tackle a few chores, and then drift back to sleep, only to wake up feeling guilty for wasting precious time. “You have so much free time—make the most of it!” I chastise myself. My kids are faring only slightly better. They hear my morning movements and start their day, spurred on by the prospect of screen time after school. Yet, there are mornings when I realize it’s 10:30, and they’re still asleep. They often crash during their mandated “no screens” time in the afternoon, and while we attempt to fill that time with dog walks or games of Uno, lethargy hangs over us like a cloud.
I know the science behind circadian rhythms and their crucial role in our overall health. Disruptions to these rhythms can affect everything from mood and metabolism to immune function. We need sleep, and it needs to be consistent. This is why I set my alarm—an effort to establish some semblance of a routine. Yet, I still struggle to find my footing. I’m worn out. Everything feels exhausting. I understand the reasons for my fatigue; I’ve read that what we’re experiencing is a form of grief, which can sap our energy and fog our minds. I tell myself it’s not just me—be gentle with yourself.
However, with my frustration over my sleep issues comes guilt. Acknowledging that my sleep problems stem from grief means admitting I’m grieving. That feels unjust. I’m a healthy, financially stable person with no major complaints, save for missing my rather modest social life and longing to hug my partner who lives far away. I often see social media posts asserting that “all suffering is equal” or “all grief matters,” but my brain insists otherwise. Many are enduring far worse than I am, and that’s an undeniable truth.
Still, I can find the silver lining—I’ve enjoyed quality time with my kids, they’ve become surprisingly independent with their schoolwork, and thankfully we’re both safe and healthy despite the distance between me and my partner. Technology helps bridge that gap, and I’m grateful for it. I can list my blessings, but reminding myself that I have it good doesn’t help when I’m wide awake at night or struggling to rise in the morning. A few strong cups of coffee and a hefty dose of guilt propel me through the day. Exercise is beneficial too. I’m doing my best to stick to a routine because I know it aids sleep. For now, I’ll keep working on establishing healthier sleep patterns, even if it means accepting that I might be grieving after all.
For those seeking more information on related topics, check out this insightful article on managing sleep issues during tough times at Home Insemination Kit. Additionally, Cleveland Clinic offers excellent resources for those navigating pregnancy and home insemination. Lastly, if you’re interested in boosting fertility, be sure to visit Make a Mom.
In summary, navigating sleep disruptions during the pandemic is a shared experience for many. Understanding the importance of a consistent sleep schedule, recognizing the emotional toll of grief, and seeking support can help alleviate feelings of isolation and fatigue.
Keyphrase: sleep schedule during pandemic
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