I have always been obsessed with sleep. On getting, or not. On how to sleep. On pillows. On lack of sleep. On why we sleep. On anything about sleep. I’m the kind of person who all those ads that pop up on your social feeds are made for. Sleepless.
I’ve spent years, a lifetime, trying to ‘fix’ it, to sort it out. I’ve delved back into my childhood, fought it and made peace with it, but nothing ever seemed to make a difference. I remained sleepless.
As a kid, I would close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I knew I was meant to sleep, but the sleep that my sister had where she would hop into bed and close her eyes and go to sleep didn’t happen for me. I learnt fairly early that when my parents came to kiss me good night, they expected me to be asleep. I trotted off to bed after the bedtime story read by Mum in the huge beanbag that fitted all four kids as well as our dog Judy. We were allowed to read in bed (these two acts are most likely where my deep love…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Meg’s Musings to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.