I have always been a bad sleeper. I remember being only seven or eight feeling anxiety about going to bed. I knew I had to sleep, but I was trying to force myself, and then I would be anxious and unable to rest. My mom always said, “Just rest your eyes–it’s almost as good”. Well, at nearly 35, it’s not much better.
About this time, my mom sprung me from my emotional prison, and took me downstairs, where my dad lay in his sweats on the floor, near the Hi-Fi speakers. He was listening to a relaxation tape. It started with your toes and went all the way up to the last piece of your hair. It didn’t help, and it turned out the guy was a crock and a fraud. Go figure.
Through high school, I slept with music on. Embarrassingly enough, it was usually Enya or some form of classical music because otherwise, I’d sing along which defeated the whole purpose. Funny how songs put me right back into my childhood bedroom, desperately trying to fall asleep before a high school midterm, Toad the Wet Sprocket playing on the radio.
It’s been a stressful week, although it should never have been. I work with children. Teenagers in fact. Continue reading