“Why does God hate me?!?!” I found myself crying out just a few short weeks ago. “I’ve been SO patient. Haven’t I been having a good attitude?”
It’s been 21 months since my twins were born, and even longer than that since I’ve slept peacefully through the night (twin pregnancy is NO joke—I didn’t sleep well for most of it.) I’ve honestly hesitated to write this post, but perhaps there is someone out there that needs to hear it. Perhaps I just need to write it.
I’m tired. And I’ve grown tired of saying how tired I am. And the people in my life have grown tired of hearing how tired I am. “Is it ever going to change?” My brother asked my husband a few weeks ago. “I hope so,” was his reply. But some days I feel like I’ve stopped hoping.
Sleep deprivation is its own form of suffering. Whether you are sleep deprived from caring for littles at night, suffering from insomnia, taking care of an ailing parent or a medically complex loved one, waking with hot flashes, or struggling through trauma and grief till the wee hours of the morning. Everything else that feels hard in life feels infinitely harder when you aren’t sleeping well or enough.
There are days when I feel okay—days like yesterday when I *only* got up twice in the night, and then there are days like the one a few days ago, having lost track of the night wakes with teething and sick toddlers, only knowing that at last, the sun did come up, and I knew the coffee brewing in our bougie pre-programed grind-and-brew coffee maker I got my husband a few Christmas’ back.
Often, a few consecutive hours of sleep can make the difference between the days that I feel like I can do my life, and the days where the un-replaced toilet paper roll makes me cry. When the twins were about six months old, there was a period of two weeks where I was getting up every 45 minutes all night every single night. This is not hyperbole. I could hardly open my eyes—they were dry like sandpaper, and so bleary it was hard to see. My head ached and I could hardly remember my own birthday let alone the pin to my debit card when I needed it at the grocery store checkout. I worried I was a hazard on the road. Meanwhile, I struggled knowing that every day that ticked by was another day of sweetness with my infant twins that I was missing because I was too exhausted to truly be present and enjoy it. I have felt like there was no box for this.
There is a guilt that comes with struggling underneath the holy weight of good things. My babies are a gift—and I don’t doubt that for a second. But even parents of singleton babies will tell you that with that sweet blessing comes a whole heap of hard. Now that the twins are getting older, I’m beginning to see the ways that the two of them being here at the same time carries with it a degree of specialness other parents don’t get to experience—the way they bring their lovies to each other. The way Nathan wraps his arm around Jordan when they are standing on a chair together. The way Jordan rubs Nathan’s back when he is sad. But so often right now, it’s hard to see beyond the struggle—beyond the constant sense of my own inability and lack. Two screaming babies want to be held while I make dinner and I am not, in fact, an octopus. Two babies waking at night, somehow means more than twice the wake ups, not even counting the times when one of them wakes the other. Two very mobile toddlers make doing nearly any domestic task infinitely difficult or impossible. I am no longer impressed by Olympians—show me someone who can put a fitted sheet on a bed with two toddlers climbing on it, then I’ll be impressed. Some days I feel like I spent all day herding cats away from the dishwasher, out of the pantry, out of the washing machine, away from the street; and on and on. My list of tasks only grows as the twins roll out their litany of messes. Just last night I was cleaning up the kitchen and had just sighed with contentment that something got done, when I discovered someone had left the bathroom door ajar, and Nathan had snuck in and dumped an entire bottle of calendula baby oil on himself and the floor. *Sigh.* Some days it feels like the task list only grows. And dealing with all this on such inadequate sleep….oy.
Well meaning people have said things like this, “take the nap! Leave the dishes/cooking/cleaning till later!” Or, “just sit and play with them! They won’t be young forever!” And while I appreciate these sentiment, I actually DO have to make sure my five children have clean clothes to wear and food to eat. We do actually need to eat off utensils and plates that are clean and not moldy from being left in the sink for days at a time. And my mental health suffers significantly if my house is left to go to complete entropy. The guilt of knowing this season won’t last doesn’t actually help me right now. Maybe you feel the same? I think there are likely aspects of this with any caregiving role you may be filling, regardless of the age of the person for whom you are caring.
I keep telling people, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. I'm amazed by my ability to continually say at the end of another long day, “maybe the babies will sleep tonight.” And most of the time, I close my eyes with this kernel of hope in my heart. After all, they have to start sleeping eventually right? But they like to trade off nights of sleeping better, so that even though they as individuals have a good night here or there, together it adds up to the same sort of broken sleep each night for me. It’s hard. Really, really, hard.
And nothing brings out our messed up theology, the ugly lies we have believed about God, more quickly than the really, really hard. Exhibit A: Me crying to my husband that God must hate me.
Why do I immediately go to this? Why do I assume that because something feels painful or difficult that it must be because I’m unloved? That it must be because I am being punished for something or have been found defective in some way?
I’m not completely sure of the answer to that question. It’s probably something I need to dig up in therapy. The dawn mostly seems to banish these fears and questions. But another hard night where my daughter wakes up every hour for the first four hours of the night brings it all up again. She especially struggles with sleep—more than any of my other kids ever did. And she needs a lot of support. And most of the time, I am more than happy to provide that. But I have said it before and I’ll say it again, sometimes I’ve been jealous of God, our perfect parent, because how much easier it would be to be a perfect parent if you didn’t need sleep?
But is it not also a perfect and good parent who is teaching me to be content with a little? Who is giving me words for other restless and exhausted souls in the middle of this trying season of constant nighttime parenting? Who is fortifying me for all the good works that he has for me in the days to come, and teaching me to give thanks for “some sleep,” even when it doesn’t feel like nearly enough? Who is showing me ways to rest even on the days when sleep is elusive—so that someday I can show someone else what it looks like to live in hope and certainty of the provision of God for our daily needs even in the desert seasons?
Yes. Of course, the answer is yes.
Right now, for me in my life, this sleeplessness is a suffering. But as all suffering does, it allows me a pathway towards knowing God’s love and being conformed to Christ-likeness in new ways. Everyday, I have the opportunity to rise and thank God even in the lack. Every night, I must choose to rest in hope and trust for his provision. And through the midnight hours to the wee ones of the morning, I rise and walk the worn path to the nursery, comforting the crying child once more, even as God comforts me in all that aches. Even when I am tempted to doubt that I am somehow something less that completely and totally Beloved.
Grace, I am so thankful for your honesty. I know. My heart hurts for your heart. I wish I could come help. 🙏🏻🕯🕊❤️🩹🤍💚 Grateful, as always. Susan
So very well written!
I totally agree - from one fellow mom who had broken up sleep for 20 years straight - it is very hard.
But you are correct, God is good, and I KONW you are also being as present with all of you kids as you possible can be. Praying for sleep and strength for you. Grace Hunter