How it all started
It began quietly with a few restless nights, waking suddenly with my heart racing and a pressure in my chest I couldn’t explain.
At first, I brushed it off. I told myself it was stress, a long day, a bad dream.
But deep down, something felt… off. Something inside me was shifting, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Then the nights got worse.
The wake-ups became more frequent, always around 3AM, as if I had some invisible alarm clock inside my body.
I’d lie there in the dark, listening to my heartbeat pounding in my ears, feeling heat rising through my chest and neck.
My mind would spiral into loops I couldn’t quiet:
Why am I awake again?
What's happening to me?
Am I ever going to feel like myself again?
Over the next months, everything intensified.
Hot flashes that felt like waves from the inside, as if my skin was burning. Anxiety that came out of nowhere.
Nights where I slept only 2–4 hours, broken into tiny pieces.
By morning, I felt like I’d lived a lifetime.
I cried more than I ever had.
I stopped driving at night because I didn’t trust my reflexes… I cut back my hours at the community college because I simply couldn’t keep up.
I felt absent even when I was sitting right in front of my daughter or my grandchildren.
I kept thinking, If I could just get one good night of sleep, maybe I’d feel normal again.
But it didn’t come.
This lasted 18 months.
Eighteen long, blurry, painful months of surviving on fragments of sleep.
When I finally gathered the courage to talk to a doctor, I was told, “It’s normal at your age.”
As if losing myself was just another box to check off on the menopause list…
It didn’t feel normal. It felt frightening.
It felt lonely. It felt like I was slowly fading from my own life...
I was exhausted, scared, and tired of feeling invisible.
One night, after yet another 3AM wake-up, I sat at the edge of my bed and realized I couldn’t keep doing the same things and waiting for a miracle.
If no one was going to take my symptoms seriously, I would have to take myself seriously.
So I started small.
I softened my evenings instead of pushing through them.
I changed the way I used light around the house.
I experimented with little rituals that calmed my body without forcing anything.
I adjusted how I ate, breathed, and even how I cooled my bedroom.
None of it was dramatic.
But slowly, gently, consistently — it worked.
Those tiny adjustments became a nightly ritual that eased my fears, quieted my mind, and helped my body feel safe again.
And when my body felt safe…
I started sleeping again.
Not perfectly. Not instantly.
But enough to feel like hope was finally returning.
Today, I’m sharing this because no woman should have to go through menopause insomnia feeling dismissed, unseen, or broken.
You deserve understanding, comfort, and tools that truly support your body — not someone telling you to “just deal with it.”
If my journey can help guide you toward calmer nights, softer mornings, and a version of yourself you can feel proud of again… then every sleepless night I lived through has meaning...
Today, I’m sharing this because no woman should have to go through menopause insomnia feeling dismissed, unseen, or broken.
You deserve understanding, comfort, and tools that truly support your body — not someone telling you to “just deal with it.”
If my journey can help guide you toward calmer nights, softer mornings, and a version of yourself you can feel proud of again… then every sleepless night I lived through has meaning...
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