the half-moon monster

Insomnia is a strange beast. It's unpredictable, unwieldy, difficult to slay. And because I used to be a night owl, making coffee at midnight and writing through the night, it's especially cruel. Everyone has a demon; I haven't figured out why this beast likes me, exactly, but I've struggled to keep it at bay on and off for years.

My last real encounter with the beast was during my first year of teaching. I thought I would be up late thinking about kids and their problems (why does Josh like poking himself with a pencil? How can I help Emily actually improve her writing instead of just thinking she is?), but instead, I'd go to sleep thinking about what hadn't gone well that day, and worried about how my lessons would work the next. My heart often pounded in my chest; I'd wake up, try to take notes to calm down, and then find myself in the same place as before: anxious, sleepless, frustrated. I had a long commute to work, so I was usually up by six anyway; in a bad cycle, I slept only a few hours a night during the week. When I needed to rest in the middle of the day, so overcome by exhaustion, my colleagues thought I was slacking, a totally baseless, and really painful accusation, which still sort of smarts.

I tried: switching the half-caf, then de-caf; turning the clock around; wearing thick socks; running more (to tire myself out); lavender Badger Balm; hot baths. Not much worked. Over time, though, the beast retreated slightly, and became a once a week thing (usually Sunday nights). And now, emotional stress (of my own making) keeps me up. Still not ideal, but at least not so workplace related.

Teaching is the kind of vocation that attracts people with perfectionist tendencies. In order to be a better teacher, and keep insomnia at bay, I've had to let go of some things: grading every paper, planning every class out the night before, emailing kids, and sometimes, parents, right away. But I've only been able to do that as I've become more confident in my own innate abilities as a teacher--abilities I lacked completely that first year.