It’s never good when rum seems like the only solution.
Picture this scene five years ago: it was 1 AM, and I couldn’t sleep—again.
Back then I didn’t realize how common my sleep problem was. The American Academy of Sleep Medicine estimates that 15 to 20% of adults struggle with insomnia in the short term, while 10% have longer-lasting disorders.
Dread of the dark perched on my shoulder. In the kitchen, I sloshed a little liquor into a glass. That’s when I noticed that the liter bottle was almost empty.
My husband doesn’t drink, and I had not made any daiquiris. I’d finished the rum all by myself.
I wasn’t getting hammered—I just had what seemed occasional shot to sleep. Tylenol PM made me groggy all day; valerian gave me a headache. Alcohol seemed like a reasonable alternative.
But when I held that empty bottle, it didn’t seem reasonable at all. Suddenly, I noticed it made me feel ashamed to keep turning to drink.
Help, Jesus, I thought. I have a real problem with sleep. I don’t know what to do.
In that moment, I felt worse about my insomnia that I ever had. I was so sick of being wide awake. I was so sick of the dread that smothered me when I hit the pillow. I was so sick of the dark.
And now, I was sick of the one solution that helped me. Despite my prayer, I felt terribly alone.
Little did I know that that moment of shame would help me finally start getting the sleep I longed to have. My sleep habits changed not because I tried harder, but because I changed my attitude towards my struggle…
I’m over at iBelieve again this month, sharing about how my relationship with insomnia–and God–changed. Won’t you join me?
