Sleeping and Waking

How sleep and my morning routine shapes my writing life

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The Chaffinch (1912) // Edward Julius Detmold

I’ve always had a hard time waking up in the mornings (and sleeping).

When I was little, my mom would get ready for work while waking me up for daycare or school. I’d linger in luxurious half-sleep until she forced me out of bed. It took me hours to feel like an actual human. This was partially because of our chaotic life: people over at all hours, partying. When she felt lonely I was her sleeping companion, even if I wanted to sleep in my own bed.

Sleep was one of the only places I could rest in my life. Still, I rarely slept well at home. Anything could happen. I got used to laying in bed, eyes open, and staring at the ceiling, or reading under the covers with a flashlight; always a risky endeavor.

I’ve reflected quite a bit on how out of control I felt as a child, but I’d never related it to my sleeping patterns until about a year ago, in a therapy session. At the time I was living with a roommate, and I couldn’t understand why certain things, like her watching television in the livingroom late at night, bothered me. That little strip of light beneath my bedroom door activated something deep inside me.

Last August I moved into a little, tiny cottage. It’s a rental, but my first standalone shelter—I’ve always lived with roommates or in apartments. For the first time in my life, I don’t share a wall with someone else (although there is a high-school about fiteen feet away, separated by a chain-link fence).

I’ve been sleeping so well that I’ve stopped calling myself a “light sleeper.” Anything used to make me: the sound of closing door latches and padding feet and hushed voices. I was hypersenstive to the movements of people around me, both neighbors and roommates.

I can say it now: hypersensitive. Hypervigilant.

I couldn’t sleep deeply because of my CPTSD— a deeply ingrained impluse to watch and listen for any unusual movements or sounds. I could tell you all the times I emerged from my bedroom as a child, and what I found, or what came into my own bedroom and what I endured, but that’s not for here or now. What I will say is that it lives in my body, almost like a whole other self, watching and waiting. With other people around, my sleep was light and filmy as a single layer of gauze.

Here, in this small space, I’ve learned to sleep.

It’s during this time of sleeping well that I’ve been able to calibrate my morning routine.

It’s elaborate.

Several years ago, I stopped sleeping with my phone in my room and bought a Hatch alarm clock, which lights up slowly and plays soothing music. This was a game-changer for so many reasons, the first being that I didn’t automatically roll over and scroll on my phone. Even if I did sleep with my phone at this point, there’s nothing exciting on it (I wrote about that here). Not having my phone in my room also means I’m not scrolling before I go to bed. I mean, essentially my phone’s not allowed in my room at all. And that has totally transformed my life, especially because I have ADHD and autism, and mornings are so crucial for setting one’s daily dopamine-seeking pattern (thanks TikTok).

When I moved in here, I set up three cheap little Amazon devices. They’re probably tracking everything I do (despite my rigid privacy settings), but since I began using the “routines” features, my mornings have transformed beyond what I could have dreamed possible.

For a long, long time I wanted to be an “early riser.” About eight years ago, when I was an ungraduate at Syracuse, I realized that my age (early thirties) made it nearly impossible for me to stay up late working. So, I decided to do the opposite and wake up super early. Over time, my body started adjusting to a 5 or 6am rising time, and now it’s pretty normal for me to be drinking my tea around 6am. It feels like sleeping in if I wake up past 7am.

That’s not to say it’s easy to get up, especially because I have rheumatoid arthritis, an autoimmune disorder that can be quite painful, especially in the mornings. This is where the Alexa routines come in.

At 515am, my bedroom light switches on. At 530am, Dead Can Dance starts playing in my bedroom (I tried a lot of different music, but Dead Can Dance has it all— lots of bass, soothing voices, instrumentals, and a fast enough rhythym to wake me up without being jarring). Slowly I wake up, and by the time I’m in the kitchen my jazz playlist has begun on my other speaker (I use the little Amazon “pops” which are often on sale for as little as $30 each). I don’t have to turn on any lights— they’re automated with smart bulbs.

Make no mistake: my cottage is rustic. It has no insulation and I’m constantly battling the Florida bugs, always plotting a takeover. But it’s high-tech!

This routine keeps me from needing my phone for anything at all, and I usually don’t look at it until noon, or early afternoon, unless I go for a morning walk. I make tea and sit at my desk. Sometimes I do handwritten morning pages. Other days, if I need to, I get to work immediately. My creative writing work is always first— right now that’s book revisions. I save everything else for the afternoons, when I don’t always have that creative juice.

The Tropic Bird // Edward Julius Detmold

The Cycle of Creativity and Routine

Being autistic and having ADHD means that I’m constantly battling opposite needs and instincts. A big part of me thrives with routine and structure, but another part of me loves stimulation of chaos. For nearly all of my life, until I was finally diagnosed, I couldn’t adhere to any kind of routine for more than a couple days. Truthfully, I still can’t, though now I do keep calendars (both paper and Google) and set myself up with a lose schedule for each day. I list what needs doing, and I do as much as I can. I never force myself to do anything at a certain time. Sometimes things fall to the wayside if they get pushed off for too long— that’s the collateral damage of having too many things to do. What I’ve learned is to let them go, and prioritize what really matters to me. Those things can’t be pushed off.

I’m not going to tell you everything I do to keep my life relatively organized, or how I support my high level of productivity. It’s not always sustainable (being in a PhD program is just like that, I guess), but I do give myself days off and breaks throughout the day when I’m doing well. That said, it’s not unusual for me to entire days without speaking to anyone else in person, or to work ten or twelve hour days. But it doesn’t feel bad for the most part, because I force myself to put all my screens away around 7 or 8 pm, sometimes earlier. Having a relaxing evening is important to me. I have a yoga playlist for relaxation; I stretch; I read; I take a bath.

Evenings are as vital for my creativity and output as my mornings— both work in tandem. Any evening social commitment will knock me out of my routine, which makes it hard to get me out at night, but easy to schedule an afternoon walk. Afternoons are great. My brain is at about 65%. Perfect for socializing. For much of my life I didn’t understand how to say no to evening engagements. I’d say yes, and then flake on my commitment. I used to do this a lot, until I stopped saying yes so much. My circle of friends may be smaller, but it’s better this way. When I say “Yes” to something, I fully commit, which means that I rarely say yes

And I never say yes in the mornings, except to myself. That’s my writing time. If I can help it, I never schedule anything between 6am and 1pm. Ever. I sit at my desk almost every single morning, even on my days off. It’s taken me YEARS to identify mornings as the best time for creative work. A PhD program is not easy, but something I love about academia is my ability to keep this schedule.

I wonder— are you someone who works best in the mornings? Or are you one of those amazing people whose brain powers up when the sun goes down? Do you separate your creative work from other, less taxing tasks? Do things feel functional for you right now, or are there improvements you’d like to make? Talk to me in the comments! Ask me anything! Share your tips and tricks!

P.S. I don’t have kids. That’s a choice I made for myself long ago. If you’re someone with children and you’re asking yourself why you can’t do some of the things I outlined above— it’s because you have kids. So, go easy on yourself. I’d love to hear from you, too, about how you may do some of these things with children, or workarounds you’ve found so you have space for creative work. As a former nanny I am truly interested!