On learning to master the art of sleep, one shut-eye at a time
I have trouble falling asleep. For my husband, the problem is staying there.
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Sleep has always been a troublesome subject for me. Even as a child, it felt optional — something I could push aside in favor of thoughts, ideas, or whatever held my attention in the moment. In high school, that tendency only intensified. Sleep became negotiable, almost expendable, as if I could somehow outthink my body’s need for it.
Of course, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. It just took me years to understand why. When I was eventually diagnosed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, things began to click into place: the night-owl tendencies, the second wind late at night, the strange sense of clarity I could only access when the rest of the world had gone quiet. Those late hours felt like the only time I could sit with my thoughts uninterrupted, follow them wherever they wanted to go, and exist without friction.
It made sense. But it also came at a cost.
When sleep stops being optional
As I got older, sleep deprivation stopped being something I could brush off. I’m now a mom, working nights, and married to someone living with hemophilia B and epilepsy. The margin for physical, mental, and emotional error has gotten smaller. Sleep isn’t just about feeling rested anymore; it’s tied to everything from hormonal balance to immune function to how well I can show up for my family the next day.
That awareness changed my relationship with sleep. Or at least, it made me try.
I’ve bought devices to track it, paid more attention to patterns, and made a conscious effort to treat sleep as something worth protecting. But knowing its importance doesn’t automatically make it easier to access. If anything, the pressure can make it feel even more elusive.
Sleep isn’t just my struggle in our household. My husband, Jared, doesn’t usually have trouble falling asleep. But falling asleep is only one part of the story, and often the easiest part. Staying asleep is another story. And getting the prescribed seven to nine hours is yet another complex layer to unpack.
In the past, painful bleeds would keep him awake through the night. These days, we’re dealing with something different, but just as disruptive. Four months after a burn injury, his hand is still healing. Some nights, the throbbing is enough to pull him out of sleep or keep him from settling into it at all.
Learning to stop fighting pain (and sleep)
Lately, Jared has been learning that he doesn’t always have to “win” against pain. Instead of reacting negatively to the pain or showing resistance, he shifts into curious observation. He’ll pause and mentally note what the painful sensation actually feels like. Is it sharp? Throbbing? Tight? Is it getting worse, or just … there?
It’s a way of creating space between the sensation and the reaction to it — something often described in psychology as cognitive restructuring. The goal isn’t to make the pain disappear, but to stop it from taking over everything else.
I’ve seen how this carries over into sleep. On nights when his hand is especially uncomfortable, the instinct (for anyone!) would be to tense up, shift constantly, or spiral into thinking, “This is going to ruin the whole night.” But when he’s able to step back and treat the pain as information instead of an immediate threat, something shifts. The body softens, even slightly. The urgency eases. And that small gap is sometimes enough to make rest possible. It doesn’t mean the pain goes away. It just means pain doesn’t take over in the same way.
For me, the lesson has looked a little different, but it comes from the same place. I’ve had to learn — slowly — that forcing sleep doesn’t work. The more I chase it, the further it seems to get. So I’ve stopped trying to “win” against my body when I sleep. Instead, I pay attention. I let the thoughts come and go. I accept that some sleeps will be better than others, and that rest doesn’t always look the way I want it to.
I’ve also noticed that on days when I’ve gone to the gym, sleep feels less like a battle. There’s something about being physically tired — not just mentally exhausted — that quiets the noise. It gives my body a reason to rest, instead of leaving my mind to spiral in the dark. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it does change the odds.
None of this is a perfect system. We still have moments where sleep is interrupted, shortened, or just out of reach. And then morning comes anyway. Our daughter wakes up full of energy, ready to tell stories, ask questions, move through her day — and there’s no pausing that because we didn’t sleep well. Parenting a young child has a way of making you feel more conscious of how you sleep. Its absence is reflected clearly in your patience, in the way you move through even the simplest parts of the day.
We haven’t mastered the art of sleep yet. But we’re learning to sleep even through pain, and in my case, to take it whenever it comes, before it slips away.
How do you approach sleep when it doesn’t come easily? Please share in the comments below.
Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.
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