Frequently Wrong, Rarely in Doubt

I have been sleeping for literally my entire life. It’s the one skill you’re supposed to master before you even learn to hold your own head up. Babies do it. Cats do it. Some people can nap standing on a subway like it’s their side hustle. Yet somehow, after three decades of practice, my sleep “skills” still hover somewhere between “newborn raccoon in a disco” and “insomniac Victorian ghost.”

Everyone has their thing. Some people are “bad at math.” Some people are “bad at cooking.” I am bad at lying unconscious with my eyes closed. My body treats sleep like an optional subscription plan. I wake up at least four times a night, like a Victorian child creeping through a creaky hallway to whisper about a haunting. (If I’m not the haunting at this point, then who is?)

The Betrayal of the Nap

Remember how as a kid you would sob to avoid nap time, and your parents would sigh and say, “You’ll love naps when you’re older”? Liars. Absolute liars. Naps are not a soft reset; they’re a trap. I wake up from naps feeling like I’ve been briefly kidnapped by a dimension where time doesn’t work and gravity is subjective. My body temperature is weird, my hair is doing interpretive dance, and I have no idea if it’s 4 PM or 4 AM. Naps don’t refresh me; they’re just me doing a cosplay of sleep for 45 minutes.

Sleep Hygiene, or How to Feel Like a Failing Victorian Orphan

I’ve tried all the tips. Lavender pillow spray. No screens before bed. The kind of weighted blanket that makes me feel like I’m being gently crushed by a warm, loving boulder. I once even drank “sleepytime tea” so strong it should have come with a disclaimer from the FDA. Nothing works. My mind at 3:00 AM is a circus, and every clown in it is screaming.

And don’t get me started on the apps. Every “scientifically-backed” sleep meditation just becomes a soothing background noise for my brain to run through every embarrassing thing I’ve ever said since 2004.

Here’s the thing: the only thing that actually works is the one thing that definitely shouldn’t — alcohol. A glass of wine and suddenly my brain is like, “Oh! We’re shutting down? Cool!” It’s instant. It’s effective. Alcohol may help me sleep, but it’s not exactly the vibe for long term maintaining my corpse in a semi-healthy state for as long as possible.

Conclusion: Sleep Is a Scam

I used to think sleep was free. It’s not. It costs time, energy, dignity, and apparently an arsenal of herbal supplements that smell like lawn clippings. At this point, I’m convinced sleep is a scam, like “clean eating” or “one-size-fits-all clothing.” I’ve been practicing my whole life and I’m still bad at it.But maybe, like all bad habits, this is just who I am now. The girl awake at 2:00 AM, staring at the ceiling, Googling “do I need to worry about waking up 6 times a night” for the 47th time. If sleep is a skill, then I’m that person who somehow failed beginner’s guitar and driver’s ed. Maybe my insomnia isn’t a problem. Maybe it’s my brand.