It's 3:07 AM. I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling — again. I should be asleep. I want to be asleep. But for some reason, my brain seems to think now is the perfect time to process the entire history of my existence.
It always starts with something small. Something dumb. “Did I lock the door?” “Did I remember to send that email?” “Did I leave the stove on?” Then it shifts — almost instantly — to things I haven’t thought about in years. That one embarrassing thing I said in high school. That text I never replied to in 2021. The way I looked at someone that one time, and whether they noticed.
My body feels exhausted. My eyes are heavy. But my brain? It’s wide awake. It’s pacing the room, replaying conversations, inventing problems that don’t exist yet, and reminding me of things I have zero control over.
There’s something weird about 3 AM. The world is quiet. Too quiet. And in that silence, your thoughts get loud. Louder than usual. They bounce around the room like echoes — things you didn’t have time to deal with during the day, suddenly demanding attention in the middle of the night.
Sometimes it’s stress. Sometimes it’s loneliness. Sometimes it’s just my brain being… my brain.
I try things. Breathing slowly. Focusing on the feeling of the sheets. Counting backwards from 300. Visualizing a beach, or a cabin, or a field of nothing. Some nights it helps. Other nights, it just makes me more aware of how awake I am.
What makes it worse is the guilt. The voice in my head that says, “You have to wake up early. You can’t afford another bad night.” So now it’s not just insomnia — it’s pressure. And pressure never helps you sleep.
Lately I’ve tried something different. Instead of fighting it, I listen. I set a 5-minute timer. I open my notes app or grab a piece of paper. And I write. Every thought, no matter how dumb or anxious or irrational. “I feel behind in life.” “I don’t know what I’m doing.” “I wish I could feel more at peace.” I don’t judge it. I don’t organize it. I just empty it out.
And somehow, most nights, that helps more than anything else. It’s like telling my brain: “I hear you. You said your piece. Now let’s rest.”
Sometimes I fall asleep right after. Sometimes I don’t. But at least I don’t feel as trapped inside my own head.
People underestimate how mental sleep really is. It’s not just a physical shutdown. It’s a letting go. And letting go is hard when you’re holding on to a thousand little worries.
If you’re reading this at 3 AM — Know that you’re not the only one lying awake, wondering what’s wrong with you. You’re not broken. You’re just tired. And that’s okay.
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