Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here
Sleep? What’s That?
There are hundreds of articles on how to “fix” your sleep.
Avoid caffeine. Turn off your screens. Go to bed at the same time every night. Meditate. Drink tea. Don’t doomscroll.
They all sound great, on paper.
But what happens when your sleep is so broken that expert advice feels like a cruel joke?
What happens when you sleep in the trunk of your car before your morning shift, and maybe—maybe—get 4 hours a night, if you’re lucky?
What happens when the few hours that are supposed to be for “rest” are instead filled with racing thoughts, ideas you don’t want to lose, projects you’re building, blogs you’re trying to write, and the overwhelming awareness that if you don’t keep moving forward, no one else is going to pick up the slack for you?
Because that’s the space I live in — a kind of gray area between rest and survival.
And I don’t think I’m alone.
I’m Not Just Tired. I’m Always Tired.
I’ve got a light alarm clock next to my bed.
I’ve tried turning off screens an hour before sleep.
I’ve dragged myself away from sugar and caffeine, even though I pass vending machines full of it on my way to a full-time job that drains my body and a part-time job that drains what’s left of my time.
But none of that changes the fact that I get up between 2:30 and 3:00 AM, just to make it to work by 4:00.
None of that advice helps when you’re stuck between building a life and not letting your current one destroy you before you get there.
Sleep, for me, is not restful. It’s a puzzle with missing pieces.
And some days, the trunk of my car is the only quiet place I have to close my eyes — if only for an hour.
The Real “Sleep Hygiene” No One Talks About
Here’s what helps me most right now:
- Giving myself permission to rest even when I feel like I haven’t “earned it.”
- Letting go of guilt for being on my tablet at night, not because I’m wasting time, but because it’s the only time I have to create something that matters to me.
- Being honest: I am an insomniac. My brain doesn’t have an off switch. I think, I worry, I plan, I build.
- And sometimes, I just sit in the quiet because silence is rare in a life like mine.
Even with these are the everyday of my life, I have this feeling that drives me to do things at sleep’s expense.
Right now, I’ve been working hard on something that I’m excited to share more in my next newsletter; I can’t wait to share more when that newsletter drops, So, if you’re subscribed, you’ll get that newsletter directly in your inbox and be the first to learn the news.
Even if you’re not subscribed, you can find this newsletter here in my Letters from the Void Newsletter page. Either way, I can’t wait to share what I have in store!
I Don’t Have Sleep Advice — But I Have Sleep Empathy
I won’t tell you to go to bed at the same time every night.
I won’t pretend magnesium or tea or blackout curtains will fix your schedule.
I will say this:
If you’re out there, doing what you have to — surviving on broken hours and broken systems, napping in your car, working jobs that don’t care about your recovery time — you are not lazy. You are not weak. You are not failing.
You are in survival mode.
And survival mode takes energy that no sleep tracker or sleep coach ever talks about.
What I’m Learning to Do (Even When I Can’t Sleep)
- Lay still and breathe, even if I can’t sleep.
- Stop punishing myself for staying up late working on something I love.
- Use my rest days to actually rest, not catch up on tasks.
- Say no to shame when I need naps or can’t focus.
Some nights, I crash.
Some nights, I lay in bed with thoughts like broken static.
And some nights, I write things like this — because connection helps, even silently.
Surprisingly, because my light alarm clock comes with white noise, when I listen to the sound of a crackling fire place (we have no snow nor need for chimneys where I’m from) I get drowsy.
I try to fight it, to stay up and finish my projects, but there’s something so soothing that my body can’t help but wind down and my mind doesn’t resist as much as it normally does.
The Fuel Isn’t Discipline — It’s Compulsion
People tend to say I’m disciplined. That I’m “driven.” That it takes serious focus to do what I do — five days in a warehouse, two days breaking things in a rage room, and somehow still finding time to train, write, and live.
But the truth is, this isn’t discipline. It’s not habit. It’s not some motivational poster brought to life.
It’s compulsion — plain and ugly.
I don’t choose to wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 every morning. I have to. If I leave my studio after 3:30, even by a minute, my brain starts clawing at me. Telling me I’m late. Telling me I’ve already messed up the day. Even though I’m still hours early for work. Even though I’ll still get parking.
And if I don’t park in my spot — or at least facing the same direction I always do — the spiral starts. I sit in my trunk, trying to rest, but my mind won’t shut up. It keeps replaying the mistake. Telling me I’m slipping. That I’m falling behind. That I should’ve tried harder. That this is why I’m not where I want to be. That I’ll never catch up.
Sometimes, I argue back. Sometimes, I try to reason with the voices. But they’re loud. They’re cruel. And they sound a lot like me.
When Routine Becomes a Cage
It started as structure — something to keep me grounded. A way to manage my internal chaos.
But somewhere along the way, it became something else. If I publish a post late, skip a workout, or forget to push the door three times after locking it, I can’t just let it go.
My mind builds a case against me. One small thing goes off track, and I convince myself that everything’s wrong. That I’m wrong.
I wish I could tell you I’m past that. That I’ve figured it out. But I haven’t.
What I am trying to do — even if I suck at it — is be kinder to myself. To remind myself that not every moment has to be perfect. That being five minutes later than planned isn’t failure. That I’m not the sum of all the rituals I couldn’t complete.
But it’s hard.
Because kindness doesn’t come naturally to a mind trained in self-blame, but I keep trying to show myself a little more kindness. Mostly, with the hope that it’ll put the voices in my head at ease to let me rest without feeling so drained.
A Harsh Kind of Comfort
Still — and this is the part I hate admitting — the routine does give me something.
Even when it hurts to keep up. Even when I’m running on fumes and cursing the alarm at 2:15 AM. Even when my back aches from work or my writing feels like it’s running dry. There’s comfort in the ritual. Not joy. Not peace. But order.
When the rest of the world feels unpredictable, when my body’s tired and my mind’s spinning, the routine is the one thing that stays the same. It doesn’t care how I feel. It doesn’t ask if I’m okay. It just says: this is what we do.
There’s a kind of safety in that — in not having to think, in just going through the motions. It keeps the chaos outside the gates, at least for a while. And when everything else feels like it’s slipping, sticking to the routine lets me believe — even just barely — that I’m still in control.
But it’s a harsh kind of comfort. It costs me. It takes pieces. And I know I can’t live like this forever.
I just don’t know how to stop without everything falling apart.
If You’re in This Too…
If your sleep is wrecked and your life doesn’t fit into a neat little productivity box, I see you.
If you’re burning out while still trying to build something, I know that edge well.
You’re not lazy. You’re not broken.
You’re just tired — for reasons that advice columns can’t fix.
And if this post made you feel seen?
Even a little?
You’re welcome to like, share, or even subscribe if you want to support more writing like this. Not for me — but for us, the ones who don’t always know how to rest, but haven’t stopped trying.
A Note For Fellow Archivists
If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.
- What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now?
- Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering?
- What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?
You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately. This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.
If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.
If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.
As a first gift, new subscribers also receive The Stratagem’s Manifesto — a small compass I wrote for fellow archivists who are still learning, wandering, and resisting the pull to disappear.
However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.
Check Out The Rest of the “More Than Muscle” Series Below
More Than Muscle: What I Eat to Survive—Built on Stubbornness and Spite
More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.
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