The Gift of Insomnia

Yesterday, I meant to post some thoughts about living with insomnia ... but I was so tired, I couldn't remember what I had been thinking and any creativity I might have had sat like a lump of mud, plugging my creative channels.  After several nights of minimal sleep, followed by days of brain fog, headaches, and depressed mood,  just getting through work on Thursday and following my household chores routine on Friday and Saturday felt like plodding through a whole swamp of that heavy, black goo.

And then, oh joy! oh bliss! Last night I slept - over seven hours!  So, now is the time, when the creative gears are running more smoothly, to write about the gift insomnia has been in my life.  You might wonder how I can call the condition a gift when the description of those days after the sleepless nights sounds so grim.  I see clients regularly who echo my heartfelt desire, "I just want to sleep," and look to me for solutions.  Part of the work I do with them is to examine the ways insomnia might be considered a gift in their lives.

Now this is not a pie-in-the-sky or Pollyanna attempt to tolerate insomnia because there's no other choice.  Rather, it's about acceptance.  If we can accept that this is part of who we are, we will care for ourselves differently.  In my case,  I've already had to accept other limitations to what I can reasonably expect to achieve because I have a chronic pain condition that restricts many options.  Sometimes I call this condition a gift because it has taught me to manage the energy I do have and to appreciate the things I can achieve.

In the same way, insomnia can be a gift.  If I can accept that I'm a person who sleeps poorly at night, can I manage my life so that I'm more productive at the times I feel the most energy, often in the evening and the first part of the night?  Can I allow myself to sleep later in the morning, especially on weekends, and not criticize myself for "wasting" the best part of the day.  Perhaps early mornings, beautiful as they are, and much as I appreciate the few I experience, just aren't generally the best part of my day.

In addition to learning to respect myself and accommodate my unique health needs, insomnia has given me the gift of solitude.  I love the silent stillness of late evening, especially on a warm summer night when I sit in the gazebo and listen to Nature quieting herself.  Then I am most aware of God; then its easier to meditate on God and life; then its easier to just be silent and calm in God's presence.  This is the best part of the day for me ... and also the most creative part of my day.  Now I'm alone (the squire is, of course my exact opposite: early to bed and early to rise, which works well for us, most of the time) and there are fewer distractions to slow the ideas and connections as my mind processes the day and turns to God.

And that's something that perhaps I wouldn't experience in the same way, were it not for the gift of insomnia.