Sleepless Nights

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 28:11

As she lies there staring at the ceiling, she keeps hoping that eventually her mind will quiet down long enough for her to rest. Instead, her thoughts keep racing. Maybe she should throw in a load of laundry. Maybe she should clean something. But it’s 1:00 a.m., and she doesn’t want to disturb the house.

So, what is she supposed to do with all of this restless energy? She tosses and turns before finally reaching for her phone, scrolling aimlessly while debating whether she should just get up and log onto her work computer. What is this? These sleepless nights are filled with restless thoughts and uneasy feelings. Is it anxiety?

And why is she suddenly so cold? She climbs out of bed, pulls on her flannel pajamas, and slides back under the comforter. Finally—warmth. Cozy. Safe. Her body relaxes, her thoughts begin to soften, and eventually, she drifts off to sleep.

Then suddenly, it’s 3:00 a.m. She wakes up drenched in sweat, her flannel pajamas clinging to her body like a wet towel. The bed is damp, her forehead soaked, while beside her, her husband sleeps peacefully, completely unaware of the personal heatwave happening inches away from him.

Meanwhile, she’s fumbling through the dark, peeling off soggy pajamas and searching for a spaghetti-strap tank top and sleep shorts because suddenly it is hoooooottttt. The ceiling fan has to come on immediately. One minute she was freezing under layers of blankets, and the next she’s trying to survive the night without spontaneously combusting.

She shuffles to the bathroom and grabs towels to lay across the bed until morning, when she can finally change the sheets. And here she is again, staring at the ceiling. Only now the fan is spinning overhead, and her husband has tugged the comforter closer to himself, searching for warmth, still completely undisturbed.

She starts breathing slowly, trying to calm her body and quiet her thoughts. But now another thought creeps in: This is going to be a long day. It’s almost 5:00 a.m., and her alarm will go off in just a couple of hours. This is not good.

And just when she finally drifts back to sleep, the alarm blares at 7:30 a.m. She wakes up exhausted, feeling like she spent the night out clubbing instead of in her own bed. But still, she forces herself to get up and start the day, brushing aside the fatigue, the irritability, and the reality that her body has been fighting a battle all night long.

And she still has to show up. Now she’s searching for coffee—anything to manufacture some energy. Her husband is off to work, the dog still needs to be fed and dropped off at daycare, and she has to walk into work fully present, efficient, cheerful, and upbeat for the team.

Throughout the day, exhaustion makes every decision harder. She makes terrible food choices because she’s tired. She convinces herself that she’s going to work out after work. Lies. All lies. At this point, she’s not thriving—she’s simply trying to survive the day. Knowing full well that once she gets home, she’s going straight to bed. And she does.

But the cycle begins again. Here she is, once again staring at the ceiling, searching for sleep that refuses to find her. Beside her, her husband is deep in REM sleep, completely oblivious to the silent battle happening inches away from him.

The only thing that has changed tonight is this: She’s sleeping completely nude, hoping her body will finally settle down and let her rest. But it doesn’t. She’s cold and hot at the same time—shivering while sweating, exhausted but frustrated, tired but wide awake. What is this?

Eventually, she gets up and pours herself a small glass of wine, just trying to calm her body enough to sleep. It helps. She finally drifts off.

The next morning, she awakens, and then it becomes clear to her what this is. This is the “change of life,” the “next chapter,” the moment when the life she once knew as a normal woman begins to shift. This is it. This is perimenopause—or menopause—and it has arrived in full force.

What is she supposed to do with this? She still feels young. Maybe not twenty-five, but young enough to feel caught off guard by her own body. And while she’s not completely angry about this change, it is still a change. A major one.

She finds herself wondering: Is this just the beginning? The beginning of more sleepless nights, more mood swings, more moments where her body feels unfamiliar to her? More things she can’t control?

No one really prepares women for this part. People joke about hot flashes and hormones, but no one talks about the grief that can come with it, the realization that the body is entering a new season, whether she’s ready or not. One day she recognizes herself completely, and the next, she’s standing in front of the mirror thinking, “Who is this woman, and why is she sweating at 2 a.m.?”

And maybe that’s the hardest part: learning that menopause isn’t just physical. It’s emotional too. It’s coming to terms with change while still trying to hold on to the version of herself she’s always known.