What or who am I beneath all my roles?
Exhausted. That’s what TF I am.
I know what you’re thinking.
“Exhausted? Psssh, aren’t we all?!?!”
“Join the club, girlfriend.”
“Of course you’re tired. You stay up all night vaguebooking and reading Jackie Collins, sis.”
Whatever. In the words of my personal Jesus, “I ain’t finna argue wit’ you.”
Fact remains: I’m sleepy AF.
Gabby Bernstein, my unofficial life coach, says sleep is a spiritual practice. I know that to be true because I can step out of my spirit real quick when I don’t get enough sleep. There’s a direct correlation between my stank attitude and my sleepyhead, I cannot front. So when I lay head to pillow at night, I’ve earned the sleep. But the gotcha? While the quality of my sleep has improved since I got sober 439 days ago, I still don’t drift off. My body fights sleep, it’s truly insane. My husband, however, is snoring within minutes of his head hitting his pillow.
One of my 2021 intentions is to get more sleep. I average roughly seven hours a night, which is on the low end of the recommended amount for grownups. Another hour or two would only help. I also want better sleep – no more tossing and turning while my husband sleeps peacefully.
But let me keep it real: while I’m hopeful for growth in many areas of my life, sleep is not one where I’m expecting a complete metamorphosis. I’m a night owl, y’all. I love my evenings: watching Rated MA television shows on cable once the kids are in bed, reading while the rest of the house is quiet, and, of course, sexytime with my beloved.
But I gotta get some sleep.
All of the roles I cherish and hold dear – wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, librarian, writer, yogi, resident MILF – require a well-rested body. Books are cool but I need replenishment, a respite from serving the day. I truly think it starts there, with the sheer belief that I deserve rest.
“I deserve rest.”
That’s my new motto…
More tomorrow. Bye.
Header image drawn by Sevelle The Artist