Please get another dog. I know it might sound wrong or something, but it's not. Rescue a dog who needs you and will love you. I'm a cat person, but I have found this to be the solution for me when I lose one of my loved ones.
Thanks so much for this article. For me, my sleep situation changed markedly about 2 months ago, soon after I started my Substack.
I always have a lot of thoughts about various aspects of it. In no way do I see them as worries - it seems to be much more like excitement about things to do.
The same effect on sleeping, though. I’ll work on taking your advice.
I’m glad you found the article helpful! I totally get it — I’m the same way. My mind starts racing with ideas right when I’m supposed to be sleeping. Writing them down before bed and saving the planning for the next day has helped me a lot. Let me know how it works for you!
Thank for sharing this information. Due to having rheumatoid arthritis, I am in constant pain with knees and back. I am now trying (don’t laugh) Vicks vapor rub on knees and back at night. It is so far helping me sleep.
Not laughing at all — if it helps, that’s what matters! The menthol in Vicks can actually calm pain a bit and make it easier to sleep.
If you keep using it, just avoid putting it on broken skin and wash your hands after. Some folks also find Voltaren gel, capsaicin cream, or a heating pad before bed works well too. Hope you keep getting good sleep!
I have always been a history buff and especially focused in later years on the Presidents. When I have trouble sleeping, I just recite my “ritual.” I name each President, his party, the state from which he was elected (not always the same as his birth state), his wife’s maiden name, and the years he was in office. On a “good sleep” night, I can fall asleep before I get to Andrew Jackson! Other nights, I may get as far as George H.W. Bush.
Thanks. That's all very helpful, including comments. Just before I came across this helpful text, I had spent a few minutes trying to write my morning negatives away. (I lost my darling dog recently. It's harder). Is it too long to share here? ..I'll put it in, hopefully allowed.
:
Woke, drowsing. The small sauna room, the green eyes, mopping between my legs on the way 'home', to the safe psychiatric clinic. His stopping car in dark, attempting again, on way back. My elbowing him from passenger seat, trying to get cleaned, screaming? No. but asking to be taken home. It's late. Sliding along the wall, Rose said. Rose said I said I'm filthy, don't touch me.
My word against his?
What if 45 years later I ask S. his wife at the time? Where had she gone? With both kids?
The road, long and flat, from the forest to the junction, churning clay coloured water up to my wheels, scared, alone, where were m & c? They'd gone ahead. I must be all right if they're ahead in the mist, curtains of rain.
Deception! They weren't, I found later. Meanwhile flood water is nearly to top of my wheels. I push on, to get to mass, unaware the bridge was down on other side of village so Father couldn't get through.
When I emerged from the terrifying moments I thought the floodwater would take me away, I find a rain soaked township almost deserted and certainly no-one outside the church.
On the way down, in the water, I ring Rob, hundreds of kilometres away. I've only had the car a couple of years, how does the 4 wheel drive work? He's calm. Automatic he says. Don't panic. But this memory is about deception, the churning, puzzling waters of being so disliked that your erstwhile hyper Christian host, would turn off the road way back near the house, and happily leave the inexperienced guest ploughing dangerously through the waters, only persevering because she was convinced you both were ahead in the truck. So Christian, Melody. You were sly. You slid quickly into the passenger seat with Craig all ready to leave, some supplies. Why slip away. Why not say..we're going into town, I had to ring. More to the point, why not ring me after few minutes and say we're not continuing down the road, there's too much water. You left me, inexperienced and alone, to plunge through the kilometres of wide, flat, flooded road on a dull, drenched morning. So so nasty, such little things you did. Betrayal. Your disgust showing. It seemed. Like the time you slipped away with some house guests, for a day drive up the gorge. I so would have loved to go. Now I know you, I'd push back. And I know me. But I was still, in these covid times, post-concussion and post several years of incessant, severe workplace abuse.
Big question is, will I ever get these feelings away? The sauna, green eyes, betrayal, cajoling for a second time? 45 years ago. If I write my story, publish, won't the world just ignore. Oh another sad tale they'll say?
It was a priest, in confession, who brought to me such a plank of reality, that I was able to sort all these dangerous chemicals in my mind. That's an illegal thing, you know. You could have gone to the police. It's illegal, what he did. Just quiet, firm words that suddenly provided my tortured conflicts with a raft to sit on, and gaze at the disaster scenery till I could begin to understand. That's what is clear to me. Just a few clear words. At the time, no further discussion.
I notice my morning awakening brain is sadly, decades after, dredging around for dismal events, bringing them up.
....
How many times do I wake like this? memories. Why don't humans dredge around for good memories. Thank goodness for my hungry belly. I'll have to get up.
To an empty room. No eyes on the floor, waiting to get going. Our rhythm, in the end, to get you to pee and poo...out to the lawn first, then in for breakfast. Once you understood, you bustled out, your poor legs and back hobbling through the arthritis to get out .. and back to breakfast. Especially when breakfast became so delicious, my efforts concocting all sorts of yummy stews and meats. With all the medication regime. Trying, trying so hard to get you right.
Now I see, this morning, that all the time you were present, 11 years, your loving eyes kept the dismal at bay. Your darling presence and readiness always, night and day, beside me, catching any dark thoughts and shoving them aside. Tilly. You were my protection, a shield. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
That’s really moving. Losing Tilly clearly opened up so many old wounds, and it sounds like you’re processing a lot at once — grief, memories, hurt, all tangled together. Writing like that takes courage. Thank you for sharing it. Tilly sounds like she gave you the kind of steady love that helps keep a person going. Be gentle with yourself right now.
Please get another dog. I know it might sound wrong or something, but it's not. Rescue a dog who needs you and will love you. I'm a cat person, but I have found this to be the solution for me when I lose one of my loved ones.
Thanks so much for this article. For me, my sleep situation changed markedly about 2 months ago, soon after I started my Substack.
I always have a lot of thoughts about various aspects of it. In no way do I see them as worries - it seems to be much more like excitement about things to do.
The same effect on sleeping, though. I’ll work on taking your advice.
I’m glad you found the article helpful! I totally get it — I’m the same way. My mind starts racing with ideas right when I’m supposed to be sleeping. Writing them down before bed and saving the planning for the next day has helped me a lot. Let me know how it works for you!
Thank for sharing this information. Due to having rheumatoid arthritis, I am in constant pain with knees and back. I am now trying (don’t laugh) Vicks vapor rub on knees and back at night. It is so far helping me sleep.
Not laughing at all — if it helps, that’s what matters! The menthol in Vicks can actually calm pain a bit and make it easier to sleep.
If you keep using it, just avoid putting it on broken skin and wash your hands after. Some folks also find Voltaren gel, capsaicin cream, or a heating pad before bed works well too. Hope you keep getting good sleep!
I have always been a history buff and especially focused in later years on the Presidents. When I have trouble sleeping, I just recite my “ritual.” I name each President, his party, the state from which he was elected (not always the same as his birth state), his wife’s maiden name, and the years he was in office. On a “good sleep” night, I can fall asleep before I get to Andrew Jackson! Other nights, I may get as far as George H.W. Bush.
Love this—turning worry into a history quiz!
Thanks. That's all very helpful, including comments. Just before I came across this helpful text, I had spent a few minutes trying to write my morning negatives away. (I lost my darling dog recently. It's harder). Is it too long to share here? ..I'll put it in, hopefully allowed.
:
Woke, drowsing. The small sauna room, the green eyes, mopping between my legs on the way 'home', to the safe psychiatric clinic. His stopping car in dark, attempting again, on way back. My elbowing him from passenger seat, trying to get cleaned, screaming? No. but asking to be taken home. It's late. Sliding along the wall, Rose said. Rose said I said I'm filthy, don't touch me.
My word against his?
What if 45 years later I ask S. his wife at the time? Where had she gone? With both kids?
The road, long and flat, from the forest to the junction, churning clay coloured water up to my wheels, scared, alone, where were m & c? They'd gone ahead. I must be all right if they're ahead in the mist, curtains of rain.
Deception! They weren't, I found later. Meanwhile flood water is nearly to top of my wheels. I push on, to get to mass, unaware the bridge was down on other side of village so Father couldn't get through.
When I emerged from the terrifying moments I thought the floodwater would take me away, I find a rain soaked township almost deserted and certainly no-one outside the church.
On the way down, in the water, I ring Rob, hundreds of kilometres away. I've only had the car a couple of years, how does the 4 wheel drive work? He's calm. Automatic he says. Don't panic. But this memory is about deception, the churning, puzzling waters of being so disliked that your erstwhile hyper Christian host, would turn off the road way back near the house, and happily leave the inexperienced guest ploughing dangerously through the waters, only persevering because she was convinced you both were ahead in the truck. So Christian, Melody. You were sly. You slid quickly into the passenger seat with Craig all ready to leave, some supplies. Why slip away. Why not say..we're going into town, I had to ring. More to the point, why not ring me after few minutes and say we're not continuing down the road, there's too much water. You left me, inexperienced and alone, to plunge through the kilometres of wide, flat, flooded road on a dull, drenched morning. So so nasty, such little things you did. Betrayal. Your disgust showing. It seemed. Like the time you slipped away with some house guests, for a day drive up the gorge. I so would have loved to go. Now I know you, I'd push back. And I know me. But I was still, in these covid times, post-concussion and post several years of incessant, severe workplace abuse.
Big question is, will I ever get these feelings away? The sauna, green eyes, betrayal, cajoling for a second time? 45 years ago. If I write my story, publish, won't the world just ignore. Oh another sad tale they'll say?
It was a priest, in confession, who brought to me such a plank of reality, that I was able to sort all these dangerous chemicals in my mind. That's an illegal thing, you know. You could have gone to the police. It's illegal, what he did. Just quiet, firm words that suddenly provided my tortured conflicts with a raft to sit on, and gaze at the disaster scenery till I could begin to understand. That's what is clear to me. Just a few clear words. At the time, no further discussion.
I notice my morning awakening brain is sadly, decades after, dredging around for dismal events, bringing them up.
....
How many times do I wake like this? memories. Why don't humans dredge around for good memories. Thank goodness for my hungry belly. I'll have to get up.
To an empty room. No eyes on the floor, waiting to get going. Our rhythm, in the end, to get you to pee and poo...out to the lawn first, then in for breakfast. Once you understood, you bustled out, your poor legs and back hobbling through the arthritis to get out .. and back to breakfast. Especially when breakfast became so delicious, my efforts concocting all sorts of yummy stews and meats. With all the medication regime. Trying, trying so hard to get you right.
Now I see, this morning, that all the time you were present, 11 years, your loving eyes kept the dismal at bay. Your darling presence and readiness always, night and day, beside me, catching any dark thoughts and shoving them aside. Tilly. You were my protection, a shield. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
That’s really moving. Losing Tilly clearly opened up so many old wounds, and it sounds like you’re processing a lot at once — grief, memories, hurt, all tangled together. Writing like that takes courage. Thank you for sharing it. Tilly sounds like she gave you the kind of steady love that helps keep a person going. Be gentle with yourself right now.