When you spend the first weeks of the school year being sleep deprived and overextended, everything that happens suddenly turns into a drastic situation. Plus, senior year is tough!
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| been sleepy since freshman year |
But here we are, in senior year, because somehow I made it through. And honestly, I'm ready to leave already. 😅It's more complicated than that though.
One part of me is ready to savor every moment of senior year and enjoy this college life while it lasts. Because when next am I gonna be living in a place where
- I live within 5 minutes of my closest friends
- I don't have to cook or clean
- I can create my own class schedule
- and so much more?!
Well plot twist: another (huge) part of me cannot wait to be out of here. Because never have I been in a place where
- I feel constantly pressured to work
- deadlines loom at every corner
- my calendar looks like some twisted game of tetris and the game is about to end
Perhaps a part of being a senior is being so done with the whole college thing. But another huge part of senior year is being stressed about what comes next. Everyone I meet wants to know: what are you thinking of doing after college? I have a plan that I feel decently about, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for the reality of graduation and moving on.
But I am here to talk about sleep.
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| family caught me slippin' on our vacation |
For my entire life, I've been really bad at having a healthy sleep routine and have become notorious for falling asleep in all manner of public places: in the chapel during my high school’s morning assembly, on a crowded bus in Paris, on a glass-bottomed boat going out to sea, in any and every car ride lasting more than 5 minutes...and the list goes on. For the most part, this is not something I’m necessarily ashamed of. It’s cool that I can sleep through anything, and apparently, in Japan, napping in public is a sign of hard work! This particular skill does get dicey when it comes to class, like falling asleep at the front of my Nutrition lecture, the one taught by my major advisor; or nodding off during a 5-person Spanish class abroad. Admittedly, I’m not as proud of those moments.
I’ve made many past attempts to fix my sleep habits. Never have I succeeded in becoming a real morning person (I don’t think that’s in the books for me), but there have been times when I was more intentional about my sleep schedule. For example, my sophomore winter, I prioritized sleep like never before and my life was so much better, if only for a brief 10 weeks. The sad things is, I can’t think of a more recent example of healthy sleep habits, which brings me to my current issue: the non-existence of my sleep schedule this quarter.
Don’t even ask me what time I usually go to bed, because in the last 3 weeks, it's ranged from 12 midnight to 4:30AM and everything in between. It is not a good situation but in ways I hadn’t expected. I know sleep deprivation and lack of a sleep routine throws your body out of wack in a slew of cognitive, psychological and physical ways, but I really didn’t think it could change who I was and how I responded to things so drastically.
There have been a couple instances in the last 2 weeks where I found myself reacting uncharacteristically badly to situations. Exhibit A: our neighbors pranked us in the most innocuous way - a little chanting outside our house at 11pm and some notes slid in through a window. What we have going on is a fake rivalry for all intents and purposes. But that Tuesday night, I remember sitting in my room in my usual sleep-deprived state, and clearly I had a chip on my shoulder about something. Because when I heard the chanting outside my window, I slid into my house slippers, grabbed my keys and marched downstairs like Mr. Nebbercracker from Monster House, the crabby old man who chases away anyone who steps foot on his lawn. I was on a mission. Who did they think they were chanting outside my window at 11-freakin’-pm?
Downstairs, I throw open the front door to a mob of college students with silly grins on their faces like heha we got 'em.
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| where it all went down: outside my beautiful home photo credit Stanford RDE |
“Hey, we’re not about to do this,” I declare. Someone tries to get past me into the building and I bar them from entering. “No, no, goodnight, goodbye.” Click. I close the door and head back upstairs, feeling frustrated, ticked off, irritated, and every other word that means “annoyed”.
Later that week, as I debrief this incident with my friends/co-staff, I realize I may have overreacted. Since when could I not take a joke? I mean, I take most things more seriously than most people, and if you crack a joke it might take me a second to catch on, but I was getting my knickers in a twist over this? Some friendly fake rivalry? Who had I become?
And that was the first moment I realized just how irritated I had become. Being irritated was no longer a reaction, it had become my default setting. Everything seemed to get on my nerves, and became a bigger deal than it actually was.
Exhibit B: my poetry class. I joined this class late, so I went to class for the first time feeling already behind and unqualified. On top of that, the syllabus read: “come prepared to class with all the readings. I will know if you don’t do them”. There was a very I’m-watching-you tone to it. First of all, no, Prof, you won’t know if I didn’t do them because since freshman year I’ve been mastering the art of contributing to a class even with limited reading knowledge. And second of all, why all the pressure, Prof?! I’m already stressed. So that was strike one.
Then, for the next class, he sends out an assignment description and poem packet that reads: “Do NOT read the packet 2 hours before class. Read it NOW and work on your poem in advance”. Of course, I only see this when I open the packet an hour before class, and I’m doubly stressed out. I’m in the library, printing my assignment at the last-minute, reading the packet, feeling like I’m already failing myself and the prof. And the words “do NOT read 2 hours before class” are running through my head, taunting me every second. I felt personally attacked.
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| grinding in the library |
Because I am the type of student to do the readings 2 hours before class, but not always because I want to. Clearly, I’d much rather be reading ahead and staying on top of it but that’s just now how the cookie crumbles most of the time. Most of the time, I don’t have time to do things way in advance, and I’m scrambling to do them at the last moment, which brings all the self-hatred bubbling to the forefront as I rush through the readings and ask myself: Why am I like this??? So I felt like the prof was trying to make me feel even worse. I wanted to tell him, we’re college students! We’re all trying our darn best to make the most of our crazy schedules and commitments, and you shaming us into doing your work is really a mean move. I don’t need the additional pressure.
So I attend the 2nd class feeling terrible and nervous because I feel like the professor can see straight through to my soul and just know that I didn’t finish all the reading. Strike two prof.
Then he mentions in a somewhat brusque manner that the class isn’t participating enough, reminding us that participation is a huge part of our grade, so we need to speak up a bit more. Okay, the way I just phrased it sounds reasonable, but the way he said it made me feel attacked once more. I’m trying my best okay, I wanted to say. Strike three prof!
For the next week, I complain about this situation to anyone who would listen. They all sympathize with me and it is nice to feel supported. Then I attend class the next week - when I started getting more sleep - and I struggle to remember why I was so incensed the week before.
The professor actually just cares a lot about poetry. When we handed up a list of images the week before, he compiled his favorite from each student into a handout. Then he individually complimented each image. Yes, that gave my self-esteem the boost it needed and reconciled the professor in my eyes. It also put things into perspective. I was shocked at how I’d reacted to the previous week and how I'd taken everything so darn personally.
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| someone shared this meme on facebook today & it really struck home |
Could it be, I wondered, that my sleep-deprivation and uncharacteristic irritability was causing me to see everything through a distorted lens? Is this the opposite of the rose-colored-glasses world view?
I mean, there’s no way to say for sure that sleep deprivation was the cause of all this. I was also pretty overwhelmed and in a state of constant mild stress over everything that was happening. I had not a moment of free time to process anything or think about things. Self-care was non-existent. Honestly, it’s all probably intertwined.
But I do know for sure that there’s a marked difference in how I feel and behave when noticeably sleep-deprived versus when I’m not. When I actually get enough sleep, getting out of bed doesn’t become easier, but facing the challenge of the new day does. My calendar doesn’t daunt me as much, and I feel emotionally prepared for situations. Take away my sleep, and suddenly I don’t know who I am or how to react.
Long story short, it’s probably time to attend to my sleeping schedule and fix it before it gets even more out of hand. Exhibit C: I stayed up until 4am writing this, until my eyes were drooping and my contacts were drying out. Not a great move, but I really wanted to write this. So here we are.
Whoever you are, whatever your stage of life, please get enough sleep tonight!