Beat Insomnia for Good With These 6 Unconventional Techniques

 

Along with 25% of Americans, according to Science Daily, I’ve struggled with insomnia most of my life so sleep is a regular topic of discussion for me. When I began traveling back in 2018, I met countless people who shared the same problem. I learned that most of what we read online doesn’t help with the common distractions of life and sometimes succumbing to your insomnia or using it to your advantage is the only option.

Nonetheless, you have to get creative.

The following recommendations come from a handful of characters I’ve met around the States, who were willing to share their unique techniques for combating sleepless nights.

. . .

A good night’s sleep? Don’t hold your breath. Actually… do exactly that.

Maryanne, age 62 | Newport, Rhode Island | Retired Social Worker

Maryanne was the spitting image of Blythe Danner with the voice of Claire Danes and a laugh as contagious as Julia Roberts’ in Pretty Woman. I met her in line at a seafood restaurant on the coast of Rhode Island. We were both awaiting lobster rolls with a side Ceasar salad and began arguing when they called the first Order Up.

“You take it!” No, you take it. Isn’t female altruism just disgusting?

“No, no, no,” Maryanne said with her hands up in surrender. “You were here first, I’d rather starve than steal your food.”

“Yeah, but you’re old and my mother taught me good manners,” I replied, to which she cackled uncontrollably and insisted that I utilize my good manners to eat lunch with her.

While we enjoyed our matching meals, sans-fries, I yawned half a million times. “It’s not you,” I admitted. “I slept like shit last night. And the night before, and the one before that. Maryanne, I’ve slept like shit my entire life.”

Her face lit up. Yet another thing we had in common.

“My daughter — you should meet her, I know you’d get along — she’s a yoga instructor. When she moved back from Arizona last summer, I started taking her classes. I knew zilch about yoga before that and, to be honest, I was only going to support my baby, but after three classes, I was hooked.

I know most girls your age do yoga for… oh, you know… so they can wear those tight, little spandex pants and the cute workout bras and all that… and you know, take photos of themselves all curled up like Auntie Anne’s pretzels.

Anyway, I was at a 6 AM class and I hadn’t slept yet. I’ve been an insomniac since, gosh, since the days of SMU (Southern Massachusetts Collge), for other reasons back then but I’d have to kill you if I told you, and anyway, we always finish class with, oh gosh, what’s it called?”

“Savasana?”

“Is that the one you lie on your back, like a dead cockroach?”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s it. Well, Olivia, let me tell you. I fell asleep and apparently, I was snoring. I woke up to my daughter’s foot in my side. After class, another girl came over to me, she was about your age. How old are you? 22?”

“27 but I’ll take it.”

“Smart girl! Anyway, she explained how she uses a breathing technique to help her sleep. You breathe in — one big breath — and you keep inhaling while you count to seven in your head. Then you hold the air in for five seconds, then exhale for six. Counting all along. It’s kind of like how they teach you to get rid of hiccups. Know what I mean? Oh boy, once I had the hiccups in a department store with my father, and he put his hand over my mouth and the store clerk thought he was trying to kill me! They nearly called the cops on him, but it did the trick. Rest in peace, dad. Anyway, I swear to you, I was asleep within four rounds of this breathing trick.”

“Seriously? That’s amazing!”

“You’re telling me! Do you see my face? I’m sixty-five years old. Aren’t I glowing? Beauty sleep! What a wonderful thing.”

“So it’s seven seconds inhaling, five seconds holding, and six seconds exhaling?”

“Yes, but the exact numbers don’t matter as much as the concentration on counting.”

“OK yeah, I got it. Cool! And it works every time?”

“Of course it doesn’t work every time. It’s not Ambien! Come on now.”

This time I was the one cackling. I nearly choked on a crouton. My search for a good night’s sleep continued.

. . .

Count your blessings every night

Eddie, age 79 | Estero, Florida| Retired Policeman

I ran into Eddie at the community pool in my aunt’s retirement condominium. He was clipping his toenails into a metal bucket, shouting “pew, pew” with each nail sliver that made it in. When he mentioned that I looked tired — a comment I often get when I don’t wear makeup (either that or, how old are you? Twelve?) — he asked if I had a “late-night” and then winked suggestively. I told him every night was a late night, and winked back. His kind face wrinkled with pride and a new friendship was born.

“Counting sheep never worked for me. When I was a boy, my grandmother would tell me to pray and repeat the rosary and all that, but I’m just not the religious type. Never was. My family went through too much hell for me to believe in God. Eight siblings, five of ’em dead, from disease or war.

But midway through life, you know, once my knees stopped cooperating and my back started giving out, I guess I sort of did start praying in a way but not the Hail Mary or the Full of Grace…”

When I pointed out that these were the same prayers, he responded, “I told you I’m not religious! None of that nonsense in the Bible. I think of all the things I’m grateful for. I close my eyes and I say them out loud. That’s the important part, saying them out loud. One by one. You should try it. If you’re lucky like me, the list will exhaust you… and annoy your wife.”

. . .

Cut the cord & set a false alarm

Laura, age 39 | New York City | Lawyer & self-proclaimed workaholic

“My days are insane. I’ve never had a routine for anything, let alone sleeping. Sometimes, I don’t even get home until 9 p.m. and I literally forget to eat. I sit on the couch, sometimes with my heels still on, and binge the worst TV you can imagine. It’s bad, like really bad. Like reruns of Real Housewives of New York, bad. I just need anything to drown out the day, drama that I’m not responsible for. And I used to think it helped shut my brain off but then I’d get in bed and close my eyes and all I could see was Luann’s puffy lips or Teresa flipping the dinner table. Oh my God. Have you seen that episode?”

Laura spoke so fast and so loudly, I could hardly keep up or match her volume without feeling intrusive to everyone around us. She plopped down next to me on the subway, noticed the book I was reading, and sparked up an irrelevant conversation about how tired she was. I deeply admired her crass.

“It’s literally so embarrassing. I had to disconnect my tv. That’s how addicted I was. It was literally ruining my relationships, even my chances with guys on Tinder. So yeah, I sent back my cable box and unplugged the TV. I try not to look at any screens before I go to bed. I take a shower and then read a couple of chapters in bed.”

“What are you reading?”

“You’re literally going to kill me,” she laughed.

“I mean, probably not literally,” I muttered.

“Bethenny Frankel’s book,” she interrupted.

“NOOO!”

“I KNOW! But if that doesn’t work, I do this. I set my alarm to go off in like, say, fifteen minutes, and when it does, I get out of bed, make my bed, go to the bathroom and start getting ready for work. I usually don’t make it past brushing my teeth before I’m hopping back in bed, relieved that it’s not actually time to go to work yet. That usually puts me right to sleep.”

“So, you trick your mind into thinking it has no option but to stay awake. Reverse psychology. That’s genius!”

“I know. I mean, I’m literally a lawyer. It’s nuts.”

Literally though, it was hard to believe.

. . .

If you can’t sleep, write it out

Ryan, age 24 | Portland, Oregon | Aspiring Author

I met Ryan at an outdoor bar while waiting for my friends to arrive. I’m not sure how we started talking about sleep but his lethargy became quite chatty when the topic arose. His pierced lip had a lot to say about how creativity in the brain peaks during early morning hours and how the science of sleep is a croak of bullshit. Gurus only get two hours of sleep. That’s all you need to function, he claims. “Behold! Exhibit A,” he said, referring to himself.

“I don’t fight it anymore. I live at home with my mom, in our basement. I’ve got my own entrance and stuff (which he was sure to mention twice more), but yeah I’m most creative at night when everyone’s asleep. Most creative people are like that. Lena Dunham said she has a hard time deciphering between sleep and death and I resonate with that…”

“Lena Duhman,” I repeated, shocked.

“Yeah, the writer and actress from that HBO show…”

“Girls. I know exactly who she is. I’m just surprised you do.” You can’t judge a book by its cover, especially in Portland.

“I mean she struggles with anxiety and depression and eating disorders and like she’s got OCD but look at all the shit she’s accomplished.”

“I love Lena,” I said.

“So yeah, I’m like that. Like a werewolf, I come alive at night. If you can’t change something, you have to roll with it. I’m working on a novel. It’s pretty dark shit. Like uh, Stephen King material. Do you know Stephen King?”

Before I could answer, he continued.

“I don’t think I could have written it during the day. I mean, maybe I could.” He thought for a long minute. “Nah, I couldn’t,” he finally decided.

. . .

The benefits of falling asleep in love

Joey & Hannah, age 31 & 32 | Austin, Texas | Newlyweds

XXX

“I can’t sleep without her,” Joey said, taking a big swig of his IPA as if to counteract the corny sentiment with a manly gesture. “I was an insomniac for a quarter-century before I met this one. It sounds lame but she quiets my brain. Nothing else matters. Work, stress, whatever. I just shut off.”

“I feel safe sleeping next to you,” Hanna replied with a smile, then turned to me. “I was such a scaredy-cat so when I lived alone. I spent so many nights awake, wondering what every single noise was. I drove myself crazy. It’s nice not to worry about that anymore.”

“Who usually falls asleep first?” I asked.

“Me,” Hannah answered, without hesitation.

“Yeah, she usually does. And actually, I think that’s what helps me fall asleep, listening to her breathing pattern. Because like, it changes when you fall asleep, you know? It gets deeper and slower. This sounds dumb but sometimes, I try to match my breathing to yours…”

“You do?” Hannah giggled. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Is that creepy? I don’t know. I don’t care,” he says, taking another gulp. “I pass the f*ck out so what do I care.”

Interestingly enough, there’s scientific proof that attributes lying next to someone you love to falling asleep more easily. Expert, Andrea Petersen wrote in the Wall Street Journal that cortisol levels drop when sharing your bed with a partner, which lessens your stress levels and eases a person’s anxiety. If that’s not fascinating enough, there’s also evidence that it could slow down your aging and allow you to live longer. Scottish neuropsychologist, David Weeks wrote in the book, Secrets of the Superyoung, that having regular quality cuddle time and lovemaking can make you look 10 years younger.

. . .

Learning how to confront your monsters

Bennett, age 7 | San Diego, California | Full-time kid

When I lived in San Diego, I worked as a nanny for a family in Hillcrest. Bennett was a sweetheart during the day but a total nightmare come bedtime. He was like me; he just couldn’t sleep. Twenty minutes after I turned off his light, I heard him tiptoeing around the bottom of the stairs. I gave him a glass of milk, let him watch an episode of his favorite cartoon, and read him another story. Still, he was jittery. I felt like a total failure when his mom got home and he was still wide awake.

Fortunately, I found out, it wasn’t my fault. Bennett hadn’t been sleeping properly for months. His mother Jenn had tried everything — lavender essential oil machines, new stuffed animals, chamomile tea, a white noise machine, you name it. She had even ordered a sleep aid advice called Dodow.

The next time I babysat, Bennett and I tried Dodow. I squeezed on the bed next to him and his five hundred stuffed animals. Bennett and I stared up in amazement at the blue light as it danced upon the ceiling. After a few minutes, Bennett got jittery and started looking at the floor beside the bed. The third time he checked, he nearly fell off and I asked what was going on.

“Just checking,” he said quickly.

“Checking for what?” I asked, curiously but without judgment.

“Oh, you know. Whatever lives under the bed.”

“Something lives under your bed?” I gasped, excitedly. “Well, who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Bennett replied, nervously but still trying to act cool. “He doesn’t really come out.”

“So, it’s a boy?” I asked, trying not to pry too much but suspecting I might get to the bottom of his sleeplessness quicker than a sixty-dollar light. “How do you know it’s a boy if you haven’t seen it?”

“I can just tell. He makes boy noises sometimes.”

“He does? Like what kind of noises?”

“I don’t know…” I could tell he was embarrassed.

“Like farts?” I asked bluntly, cracking the tension.

“Noooo,” he moaned, laughing.

“Phew! At least you don’t have to smell his farts all night. Is he any nice?”

Bennett was still giggling when he finally answered, “I don’t think so.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” I whispered. His eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe I was considering such bravery. He was speechless but managed to nod, yes. I hopped off the bed and stuck my head under the bed skirt. Among the books and toys and, believe it or not, a dozen other stuffed animals, I started talking to a monster that didn’t exist. I mumbled a few things and wiggled my bum around a little, which ignited more nervous laughter from Bennett who watched carefully from his post on the bed.

“Well,” I shook the dust off my hands. “His name is Earl.”

“Earl?” Bennett exclaimed, eyebrows raised.

“Yep and Earl wanted me to apologize to you. He didn’t mean to spook you. It’s actually kind of funny,” I started laughing.

“What?” he asked, excitedly.

“Well, Ben, why do you think Earl is hiding under your bed?”

“I don’t know. To scare me?”

“Nope. Guess again. Why do people hide?”

“To play hide and seek!” He shouted.

“Yes, to play hide and seek and… people also hide when they are…aaaa…”

“A gopher?”

“No, but great answer. Wow. We hide when we’re afraid…”

“Aaa-fraid,” he repeated. “Like the frogs in the pond that hide because they’re afraid of Lucy!”

“Exactly, Ben! Earl is hiding under your bed because he’s afraid of you.”

“Of me?” he exclaimed, both shocked and proud but also a bit concerned.

“Yes, he said he’s scared of all the great big dreams in your head and all of your knowledge about animals and Legos, and your big imagination too.”

“That’s just silly. If he’s so scared then why doesn’t he just leave?”

“He’s been trying to! But he doesn’t want to leave until you fall asleep. He didn’t even let me see his face. He was hiding behind your books.”

“Because he has a pimple?”

“Maybe, maybe he has a pimple.”

“But everyone gets pimples. Did you tell him that?”

“I did, yes.”

“OK. Good. But wait, Livi…” Bennett giggled, and I was certain that for the first time, a child was about to catch me in a lie. “He’s not scary at all!”

“I know! Now, are you tired?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “What a night.”

“What a night,” I agreed, tucking him in. Twenty minutes later, I checked the bottom of the stairs. Bennett was nowhere to be found. The only other peep I heard from him came after I packaged up the Dodow for Jenn to return and closed his door behind me. As I approached the stairs, I heard Bennett say in a small yet confident voice, “Goodnight Earl.”

All I could think was, you idiot. What kind of monster is named Earl?

. . .

Conclusion, Implications, & Symbolism

Looking back and writing about these experiences, I’ve noticed symbolic insight and cultural commentary within each encounter. Maryanne’s response about sleeping pills, after her initial enthusiasm in support of yoga, came as an unintentional nod to America’s heavy reliance on prescription drugs and our inherent distrust in naturopathy when it comes to disorders such as anxiety and insomnia. Maryanne’s age is also significant and could serve as a marker for the boom of prescription drugs. According to Sleep Review Magazine, the first benzodiazepine marketed specifically for sleep was Flurazepam in 1970 when Maryanne was about 12 years old.

Eddie’s generation, on the other hand, doesn’t naturally depend upon sleep aids because they weren’t accessible until he was in his thirties. They weren’t as normalized as he navigated adulthood and plus he was raised by parents who relied on their own beliefs and behaviors for problem-solving.

On that front, I love recalling my experience with Bennett because it exemplifies the misconstrued way in which we treat individuals with anxiety. Rather than getting down to the root of someone’s anxiety — or in this case, the cause of Bennett’s restlessness — we try a million different techniques to make it go away. Bennett simply needed to tell someone about his monster. The act alone of getting it off his chest both diminished its power and his obsessing over it. Once addressed by a confidant, Bennett’s monster became more manageable and less terrifying.

Falling asleep is a physical activity but our thoughts often stop us from getting there. These stories have taught me that the key to sleep is quieting your mind. That might mean lying beside someone you love, listing all of the things you’re grateful for, or cutting your cable box. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I hope you sleep well tonight.

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This post was previously published on Change Becomes You.

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