Here I sat, in the middle of the night, having an utter meltdown to my husband about how desperate I was for my baby to sleep. It was one of those vulnerable moments where I wanted to pull my hair out, in the most exaggerated way possible. I asked myself,
“How long can this go on?”
“What am I doing wrong?”
“What is wrong with my baby?”
I felt like nothing I tried worked.
I don’t know how long I could continue to feed or rock my baby to sleep, and it didn’t work anyway — as soon as I put him down, my baby woke up. It’s like he needed me to be with him but then, I didn’t feel it was safe for us to sleep like this.
All I dreamed of my entire life was to become a mum, but I couldn’t even get the basics right, and this crushed my sense of identity.
The night would go on like this, drifting back off to sleep and waking up a few more times until the morning.
…
The day would start with my baby looking up at me with a big, bright smile, and all the love would come rushing in…
but so would the guilt. For being an emotional wreck. For feeling in any way negative about my baby.
“I can do anything for you, baby,” I would say to him while holding him close. I would tell myself that it wasn’t that bad and that I was overreacting — it was all worth it, after all, and I had no other choice but to go on.
…
Because Everyone Goes Through It, Right?
I used to absorb stories of other mothers navigating sleep deprivation, marveling at their ability to provide comfort to their babies. In an attempt to rationalize my fatigue, I convinced myself that this was the expected path I had willingly chosen. Suppressing my own exhaustion became a routine, and I would nod along to comments like, “Babies don’t sleep; it’s part of the journey.”
But it just didn’t sit right with me.
I felt selfish for wanting a full night’s sleep. I would judge myself — my baby needed me and I was complaining about being tired, which seemed so small in comparison.
So I continued for months this way. Nights were neverending anxiety and exhaustion, and days were clouded.
Some nights got better — and I felt on top of the world. Yet, they weren’t consistent. I think I had 3 nights in a row max where we had just 3 wakeups before going downhill again.
…
I Accepted This Normality — Reluctantly
My days went from turning up to baby classes and seeing friends — to being so tired some days that I was scared to drive.
I couldn’t rely on caffeine — I was breastfeeding. My mind would go from, “I want to do so much with you” to counting down the minutes till nap time so I could sleep too.
Only it would sometimes take my baby 40 minutes to fall asleep during the day — on me — and therefore, I couldn’t rest.
The inconsistency drove me insane but I still fooled myself into thinking this was normal. I still tried to convince myself that everything was okay.
I didn’t see the slow escalation in isolation in my journey as a mother.
I didn’t see the small yet compounding effects that sleep deprivation had on me because I was still alive.
I was still wholeheartedly loving my baby.
I still smiled profoundly when I watched him play, yawn, or feed.
You can’t see what’s not there, especially when your judgement is clouded.
I didn’t realise the full extent of my reality until afterward.
Unsustainably Hard
My husband and I began to argue and get snappy at each other. I couldn’t trust him to take the baby and make him sleep. So he would continue to live his life well rested — he would go to work, be away from us the whole day, and come home at bedtime, kiss his son goodnight, and chill in the living room while I sat upstairs helping our baby to sleep. I often wouldn’t bother coming down once he fell asleep because I knew he’d be awake again in 30 minutes.
If I dared go downstairs, it would be to complain to my husband, whose empathy only stretched so far because I wouldn’t listen to his solutions. I felt he didn’t understand, and I was worried that he’d make our baby cry if he tried to help.
I began to resent him.
He was, in my eyes, unaffected, and that hurt. It felt like my sacrifice was too large.
Two friends of mine paid a Sleep Trainer to help their baby sleep.
I judged them.
I, like so many mothers out there, assumed that sleep training would in some way affect my son’s personality — giving him anxiety or abandonment issues. I told myself that there was no way I could ever do that to my baby.
But one day, as my baby woke up for the inth time that evening, my blood boiled as I frustratedly rushed to him. I was so desperately tired, that I shoved the dummy in his mouth abruptly.
Hard enough for my baby to notice.
I immediately felt terrible — I had, for the first time, just taken my emotions out on an innocent 5-month baby.
My baby.
As I type this, the flood of emotions from that evening in 2019 rushes back, and tears well up in my eyes.
Who was I becoming?
Would this escalate if I didn’t do anything?
…
No matter how well anyone can reason, it simply boils down to the fact that sleep deprivation has a huge impact on your physical and emotional well-being, leading to many health issues, including depression.
I realised there and then that I wasn’t doing right by my son. I needed to be the best version of myself for him, and I knew the first thing to look at was sleep.
…
I Made That Call
I called the Sleep Trainer my friends swore by.
I cried on the phone.
She took on my worries.
I told her I didn’t want to scar my baby.
She reassured me that this was only going to help boost our bond because not only were we both going to meet our own sleep needs, we were going to have so many more positive interactions because of it.
The first night he self-settled, I was relieved. I did not think it would be possible for him to do it without me feeding him or rocking.
But he did it! I placed him in his cot awake, and I comforted him. I picked him up when I felt he needed me, I soothed him, kissed him, held him, and then I put him back down and sat next to him. I watched in awe as he suddenly began to make these whining sounds that I later found out were signs of self-soothing, similar to a cry, but actually, not stressful or high-pitched like other types of cry. And he fell asleep!
I went downstairs and spent the evening with my husband — something we hadn’t done in months.
I took myself to bed at 10 pm. My son woke up at 2 am to do the first feed of the night. He had done a 5.5 hour-long stretch of sleep for the first time since he was a newborn!
From then onwards, he had just one feed each night, and he slept through by himself from the age of 9 months.
…
How?!
How did I not see how simple it was all going to be? I had put this black mark on sleep training, had told myself I would never share with a soul the fact I had chosen to do this TO my baby, when in reality, it was not this militant operation at all. It was gentle, I did everything I would want to do for my son, and at no point did I leave him to cry.
My baby still smiled. Heck, I smiled! I smiled with intention!
I felt invigorated, like a new me.
My baby boy was brimming with energy, especially after a restful night’s sleep. It dawned on me how exhausted he must have been when I glanced back at photos of him from just a few weeks beforehand. The fatigue was evident in his cloudy eyes and the faint bags underneath them.
I had just saved us from a foggy lifestyle, simply because we met our basic needs for sleep.
I cannot adequately convey in words the profound impact my baby’s improved sleep had on us.
I suddenly had options: what was I going to do during naptime? if I wanted to chill, I could chill. If I wanted to tidy the downstairs area, I could. I began to get excited with my time.
…
Are You Tired?
Observing parents now who are experiencing the sleep deprivation I once endured, I understand that I can’t compel them to make the necessary changes.
Only when I felt ready could I embark on the journey to meet my baby’s and my own sleep needs. Reflecting on the transition from extreme fatigue to the rejuvenation of a full night’s rest, I struggle to articulate the profound liberation and upliftment it brought.
I think by far, the biggest impact it had on me as a mother, was realising how impactful the small things are, over a long period. How important wellbeing is, and how much more aware I am of not only my son but myself too. And this has had the power to help me parent with a new sense of purpose and perspective — a mind that is open to do better, and have the energy to research and tailor my parenting to my baby.
The relief of no longer worrying about whether my baby or I would sleep, and the subsequent ability to reconnect with my husband on a deeper level, transcended mere words.
I found myself getting up with purpose, energy, and a spring in my step.
The prospect of attending a baby class with my son filled me with genuine excitement, knowing I wouldn’t merely endure it but actively engage.
Gone were the days of dragging through activities, and complaining to friends about exhaustion. Now, I could converse effortlessly about any topic without injecting a negative undertone.
…
What You Need to Learn From My Experience
The takeaway is clear: I should have addressed our exhaustion months earlier. It’s a lesson in self-awareness, highlighting the importance of acknowledging my feelings as valid, even when they seem to conflict with literally everyone.
Prioritising my child’s sleep was not a sacrifice; rather, it provided us with more room for positivity, connection, and love. Meeting our sleep needs is fundamental — it’s the foundation upon which everything else rests.
Without it, prioritising anything becomes impossible. You might attempt to fulfill other needs like comfort and love — but without energy, it’s done half-heartedly. Tiredness drains the enthusiasm from events, birthday parties, classes, coffee mornings with friends, even simple pleasures like a long bath.
That’s the crucial distinction. When your heart isn’t fully engaged, you fail to appreciate.
And without appreciation, you overlook the abundance of goodness present in your life every single day. This leaves room for negativity to seep in, along with daily complaints about small things. The cumulative effect of this negativity may seem insignificant each day, but over time, it builds unnoticed.
By neglecting to address your child’s sleep issues, you inadvertently form habits with your baby that hinder growth. You might struggle to comprehend your own stagnation or your baby’s tantrums until much later.
You’ll witness exponential change in both yourself and your baby when you invest in getting sleep right, particularly with the guidance of a coach.
While free guides and budget-friendly courses have their place, a coach will push you to challenge your mindset and maintain positivity throughout your journey. Their support ensures you provide the best start for your little one and develop sustainable, healthy habits not just at bedtime, but throughout the day as well.
So, if you’re grappling with sleep challenges, consider this your wake-up call to start making positive changes today. Don’t delay, or you’ll convince yourself not to (again).
You’ve got this, mama.
…
Sylvia Emokpae is a successful businesswoman, wife, and mother, passionate about motherhood, self-love, and all things that equal abundance and growth.
Follow her Baby and Toddler Sleep page on Instagram.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean? | My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me | The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex | The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence |
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