I finally understand why Ariana Huffington transitioned her career from media mogul to sleep guru, and why Michael Jackson died while in the desperate pursuit of a few hours of Zzz’s. A good night’s sleep is delicious.
I was always the person, who slept effortlessly. Steve was the one to get up when the babies cried, not me. But about five years ago, the three horsemen of insomnia — perimenopause, parental worry, and work deadlines — causing me to reach for my cellphone at 2am for late night sessions on Twitter and various gossip websites. On really bad nights when I completely gave up any hope of rest, I logged into google docs on my phone and finished off an article.
But I slept well last night. With my window open a crack, so I could hear the crickets and the wind rushing through the trees, I slept. The three horsemen were absent — my hormones have stabilized, an article draft is on the editor’s desk, and, most importantly, parental stress has lifted. My youngest son, the one with autism, has been in a bad spot for two years. The school shutdowns during the pandemic and his inadequate post-high school situation have kept me up all night and in crisis mode for too long. With a resolution for those problems around the corner, I am a different person.