How I finally overcame years of insomnia

Or how one horrible week changed everything

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

May I be frank with you? This post-Sydney jetlag has me by the short and curlies. I’m really surprised, because I had none at all when we arrived in Australia. I slept for 10 hours on the flight from Dubai to Sydney, landed at dinner time, went out for a pizza - and they didn’t bat an eye at me asking for a gluten-free pizza and it was delicious. We went back to our digs to watch the Martha Stewart documentary, which, if you’re late to that party I highly recommend. Martha hates it, which is as good an indication as any that it’s great. We couldn’t have chosen a better show to keep our weary eyes snapped open and riveted.  Then I slept another eight hours and woke up feeling totally normal. 

Coming back has been a different story. They say it takes a day per time zone crossed to recover from jetlag. Sydney is nine hours ahead, so I guess tonight will be night five of nine where I struggle to keep my eyes open by 8pm, pass out at 9.45 and then snap awake again at 3.30am. 

Time was when this would have been a huge source of anxiety for me. I’d be sitting here right now feeling angry and stressed about the fact that last night, I probably got about five hours total of broken sleep.   

But I had a sleep epiphany a few years ago which changed everything. And maybe it will for some of you too. 

First, some background…

I bet a lot of people find themselves facing insomnia for the same reason I did: by becoming obsessed with sleep.

If you’re a newer subscriber (Hi! And thank you to all of you!), you might have missed this piece I wrote a while back about my first magazine job in London. So very many positives came from it, but the hours were truly inhumane. It was during this phase that I became consumed with anxiety about sleep. When would I get some? When could I get more? Whenever I was in bed, I’d lie there calculating how many hours I could get before I had to get up again. If it was less than seven, I’d fret about how unhealthy that was and already be fixated on how dreadful I would feel for the entire next day. I was getting so little sleep that I became completely consumed with the subject and guess what? I slept even less.

I’d spend a lot of time each day thinking about what would help me get to sleep later that evening. I’d race home to bed and lie there, wound up, unable to switch off. As the minutes turned to hours, I’d be consumed with despair. From my flat in South London I could hear Big Ben striking off each hour and by 4am I’d often be a bit teary.

I started self-medicating but sleeping pills just made me feel drowsy and heavy-lidded whilst still awake. I even went through a phase of adding alcohol and marijuana to the mix, which did sometimes help me to pass out for a couple of hours. But of course we all know that alcohol in particular is the enemy of deep sleep and makes you just snap awake at some point in the middle of the night. This next bit sounds insane I know but sometimes I’d be so enraged with my sleeplessness that I’d slap myself in the face, repeatedly, as hard as I could stand. I have no idea what I thought that would achieve? Just a vent for the rage of not being able to sleep? I think I thought I might actually be able to knock myself out. Who knows? I was not a well girl.

It did not occur to me to see a doctor about any of this. I can’t believe how clueless I was about my own self-care in my 20s.  

Even though I moved on from the killer hours job, I was still a big old mess. I did sleep, yes, but the obsession with it was unshakeable. On the many occasions that I’d snap awake in the wee hours, I’d lie there tossing, turning, totting up the hours slept and then fretting about what it all meant for the working day ahead.  

The turning point finally came when I was 35 and I had a baby. But I really don’t think you need to have a baby to share in my epiphany. 

The irony of this little sleep thief being the one who taught me the most about it.

Of course you expect to be sleepless when you have an infant, but it’s still impossible to really prepare for and understand exactly how mindblowingly tired you’re going to be. I was of course by now used to operating on very little sleep at times. But the lightbulb moment came on one particularly low day.

I was facing my fourth consecutive day of having had maybe an hour’s sleep the night before. Honestly I can still remember how dire I felt: stinging eyes, nausea, every joint aching. And, true to form, my anxiety about having had no sleep was through the roof. How will I get through this interminable day? I wondered. How will I even find the strength to walk from my bedroom to the baby’s cot, let alone somehow keep her alive all day? Does my body even have the strength to produce breast milk?

My only hope was that she would sleep long enough at some point in the day for me to maybe grab a cat nap.

One small issue with that: as he was leaving for work, Ross reminded me that the electricians were coming to install new radiators. I could have cried. I probably did, I was such a hormonal, tired mess. Then to my horror, I remembered: I’d invited my friend Kath around for lunch and to meet the baby. Good god. I cannot. I left her a voicemail apologising profusely but begging to reschedule.

Four hours after they arrived, two electricians were still clomping around and drilling and drilling when the doorbell rang. There was Kath, beaming at me on the doorstep. Fucking hell, she had clearly not heard my message yet. And what was I going to do? Make things awkward by telling her I’d tried to cancel? Nope, I welcomed her in, already knowing that later that day she would finally hear my miserable ‘I’m knackered, sorry!’ message. But we would cross that bridge.

I still wonder if it was some kind of divine intervention that delayed her hearing that message. Because that visit - that day - changed everything about my mindset. I pulled myself together for the sake of my friend who’d made a big effort to come and see me from her home outside of London. She made me laugh, and as a mum herself eased a million and one of my anxieties about whether or not I was doing a good enough job of keeping this baby alive. When Kath arrived, I didn’t know how I’d have the energy to get through her visit. By the time she left, I felt energised.

That was the day I finally realised that a terrible night’s sleep is just a terrible night’s sleep and not the End of Days. I’d felt so physically and emotionally bankrupt and yet still I had managed to not only plough through the day and survive it, I had enjoyed it. 

That was the day I finally stopped obsessing about whether or not I had slept or not. Never again would I lie awake in bed getting angry about being awake. Now I don’t get wound up about it at all. I am rational about what it will mean for the next day. Even if I only sleep for a couple of hours, I will be fine, I tell myself. Remember when you didn’t really sleep for four days and you survived? You might not be sleeping right now but you are resting, and rest is the next best thing to sleep (a therapist told me that). 

Here’s the thing: That subtle but significant shift in my mindset has meant that I sleep well. Almost always. 

I once found myself sitting next to a psychologist at some work dinner and we got onto the topic of insomnia - not sure why. I explained all of the above. How just managing to stop obsessing about sleeping is the thing that takes all the pressure off of falling asleep and so sleep comes more easily. She said, ‘You’ve figured out for yourself what it takes me years to help some of my patients understand.’

I’m slightly nervous about annoying people with this take. A couple of people over the years have not really appreciated that my cure for insomnia is to just stop worrying about it. But as difficult as it might be to make that mental adjustment, it’s been the one thing that has worked for me more than drugging myself or exhausting myself, and definitely a better strategy than slapping myself in my own stupid face.

I no longer approach the night, or sleep, as some big chore to conquer. Gone is the anxiety I used to feel as I worked myself up into a panic in the hours before turning in. I used to feel so bad for a fellow magazine editor when we were away in Milan or Paris for the fashion shows. She used to get really excited about the joy of having a hotel room to herself, away from her nocturnal toddler, to score a few nights of unbroken sleep. Only, she would usually be very depressed when I saw her because she was not sleeping. Whether it was the temperature of the hotel room, or a weird banging pipe noise, or just loud people in the corridors, somehow this dream of a precious, full night’s sleep kept eluding her. I’m convinced it was because she was consumed with anxiety about Getting To Sleep, and just couldn’t remember how to relax enough to actually do it. 

I’m not saying that I now sleep brilliantly every single night. That’s not my point. It’s just that I no longer have anxiety about it if I don’t. If I’m struggling to fall asleep, I just accept it. I remind myself that the body really is a self-governing state and will get what it needs. Because I’ve made the conscious decision to trust my body on this, I’m not anxious at all anymore about sleep. Which, funnily enough, helps me to just relax.  

A few other things I have learned that work for me:

Having a sleep divorce

I applaud the growing movement to normalise this. It’s just better for both me and Ross if we don’t share a bed to sleep. He snores so much, which keeps me awake. My anger about being kept awake means he often lies there scared to breathe, so he doesn’t sleep either. It’s really not a big deal. I love him, but our relationship could not survive our incompatible sleeping requirements.

I play this trick on myself

If I’m lying there in the middle of the night and really cannot seem to relax enough to drop off, I put myself through reverse psychology. OK, I tell myself, You’re not allowed to shut your eyes. Don’t you dare. Keep those eyes open. And it always works. 

I never drink coffee after midday

If there’s caffeine is in my system, I’ll struggle to sleep. It’s why I also leave the chocolate well alone in the evening.

My phone never comes to bed

The blue light from our phones is a brain stimulant that keeps us wired. My phone is turned off by 10pm each night and stays off. I can’t get my head around anyone who is able to sleep next to it when it’s lighting up and pinging with bullshit all night. 

I don’t have a clock

If I do need to set an alarm, I still face any clock away from me so I can’t roll over in the middle of the night and look at the time. Nothing good comes from me knowing that it’s 4am and I need to get up in two hours so I’d better try and get back to sleep. If I’m oblivious about the hour, I don’t start running that maths through my head. It’s one of the best things I have ever done to ease my sleep anxiety. 

I only use my bedroom for sleep

No work, no TV, nothing but sleep and well, yes.. that other thing that happens in bedrooms. Psychologically I just think it’s no bad thing to have a space that your mind associates with nothing but the end of the day and restfulness. 

I exercise a lot

In my 20s and 30s, I was an insomniac and also I barely ever moved. These two facts are linked, I’m sure of it. There is science behind how exercise helps you sleep, but also: I think it’s another psychological tool. I know that if I’m working out regularly, my body will do the work of putting itself in recovery mode. It’s another way I’ve taught myself to trust in this vessel I’m in to get what it needs. 

I stretch a lot

It feels like another boring thing to do in a life full of shit you need to get done every day. But whenever I’ve carved out 20 minutes or so to do it properly it is a game changer in terms of feeling deeper relaxation. There’s tons of content on Youtube to give you guided stretching exercises. It’s an incredible - and free - gift you can give yourself.

I give myself permission to admit defeat

If after all this, I’m still feel despairing and worrying about how I’ll feel the next day, I tell myself that if I really need to, I can always give myself permission to take a sick day. Cancel whatever needs cancelling. People will understand. I swear though, I have never actually gone through with this, because the second I tell myself that that’s an option, I relax a little bit more and then I fall asleep.

I’d love to know your thoughts on this. Any of it useful? Do you have any sleep-related wisdom of your own to share?