An Open Letter to Sleep

Dear Sleep,

We need to have a serious talk.

Since giving birth in May 2024, you have become this elusive, mythical creature, like the legendary tikbalang or Bigfoot, only quieter, guiltier, and somehow judging me for my life choices. Some mornings, I catch glimpses of you hiding in the sunbeams that sneak through my blackout curtains. Other mornings, you are gone, leaving me squinting at the clock, wondering if I should call it “nap o’clock” or “coffee o’clock.” And at night, oh, at night, you tease me. You show up just long enough to make me think I will get a full eight hours, then vanish the moment my head hits the pillow.

Let’s be honest, Sleep. Sometimes I avoid you. Yes, I choose to stay up late because it is finally quiet. The house has stopped asking for snacks, hugs, or last-minute “Mom, where’s my whatever-is-missing-again?” moments. In these sacred hours, I can binge-watch my favorite show, scroll Instagram without guilt, or sip coffee without needing a reheat. These hours are mine. My little rebellion. My peace treaty with life.

Do you remember when we were inseparable? When you came without guilt, without interruption, without tiny humans bouncing on me asking, “Mama, milk!” or “Mommy, what’s for breakfast?” Now, our encounters are fleeting and fragmented. You show up like a confused Uber driver, unsure if this is the right address, then leave when I need you most. But I want you to know, Sleep, that every stolen nap, every quiet morning, every fleeting second of rest is appreciated. Even if it is short, even if it is interrupted by a wailing toddler or a notification ping, I see you.

Let’s face it, Sleep. Being a parent is a full-time job with zero overtime pay. The struggle is real: doing laundry while cooking, attending Zoom meetings, and trying to sneak in a quick shower while the kids are miraculously quiet—all while making sure they are fed, happy, and alive. I remember those late nights, cooking pancit canton or reheating leftover chicken adobo with rice while catching up on a K-drama on Netflix or doomscrolling Facebook Reels, trying not to wake the little humans. Before I knew it, it was already before sunrise, and time to start another day. I know what it means to survive on coffee and determination. Somehow, I make it work. Somehow, I keep moving forward, balancing motherhood with a little self-care, and stealing every quiet moment I can get.

I am learning, Sleep. I am learning how to balance motherhood, sanity, and a little self-care. I am learning that it is okay to steal time with you, to savor it, even if it is short. I am learning that sometimes staying up late is necessary because that is my quiet time, the coffee is hot, and I can do the things I need to do without interruptions. Sometimes, late nights aren’t for resting but for surviving. They’re the moments I get to feel like myself again. And sometimes, you feel like a prize I have to fight for.

But here is the truth, Sleep. I will keep chasing you in the morning hours, in those small pockets of peace the universe allows. I will steal naps when I can. I will savor the quiet hours of the night even if you are not fully there. And I will keep looking for you, hoping that one day, we will be friends again. Until then, know this: I am grateful for every fleeting visit, every quiet sigh where I feel your comforting embrace, even if it is only for a moment.

So, Sleep, I forgive you for being inconsistent. I forgive you for leaving me at the mercy of midnight cravings and toddler requests. I forgive you for teasing me with the promise of a full night’s rest. But I hope that one day soon, we will be reunited fully, like a bowl of champorado with milk, a perfectly brewed cup of coffee, a Sunday morning with no alarm clock.

Yours, in the half-light of dawn, the hush of midnight, and every stolen nap in between,

Signed,
Jalyn