Nana Bedtimes, Powering Through, and Paying Attention to What YOU Need
Our needs evolve, and as a result, we need to understand how we operate and be open to picking up signals from our bodies and lives that it’s time to shift gears.
I’m Natalie Lue; I’m forty-five-and-three-quarters, and, most evenings, I like being in bed by nine/half-nine. Hell, sometimes, I’m in it by eight. You know those people who dance on their way to the dance floor? I’m sometimes like that on the way to bed. It’s not that I go to sleep at this time, although occasionally I do; getting into bed is the beginning of winding down. I might read, finish NYT’s Spelling Bee or watch a couple of episodes of something. Whatever I do, I signal to myself that I’m drawing a line under that day.
It’s not even that I don’t go out during the week, but I often (but not always) aim to be back in time to tuck myself in for what
called a nana bedtime (grandma bedtime) when we met up for an early dinner that ensured we’d get to have a full evening and be tucked up in bed early.I haven’t always been this way.
During my twenties, I sometimes partied six nights a week and rolled into work on a few hours sleep. I could also “power through” (e.g. dodgy relationships with Mr Unavailables, overdoing it at work, drama with family, debilitating immune system disease) and give the impression of being a-okay on the outside while privately crumbling, seething and hurting on the inside.
In my thirties, I juggled two young children, working for myself and creating loads of content, and home life, plus I went out socially more than I do now. Although I thought about sleep all the time, pretty much from the day I gave birth to our first daughter, I considered myself to be quite the night owl and even got some of my best work done in the wee hours. Although I had much healthier habits in many respects, I still demanded a lot of myself and continued to “power through”, albeit less than I did in my twenties.
Now, in my mid-forties, I hardly drink (I’m not cut out for hangovers, and I’m great craic anyway without booze), and if I have even one dodgy night’s sleep or a late night, I feel it for a couple of days. I can “power through”, but it’s now the exception, not the rule because the likes of grief, burnout, perimenopause, and tinnitus have taught me that I need to respect and listen to my body, to myself. I am not a machine. I also don’t exist for everyone else’s consumption.
I need more rest and quiet time in my forties than I’ve needed before.
I can call it nana bedtime, early nights or whatever, but at the end of the day, I go to bed at a time that feels right on time for me.
I don’t wait until I’m bone tired, near-collapsing, or have somehow managed to tick off everything on the never-ending to-do list. I also don’t need to base my bedtime on someone else’s idea of what it “should” be.
Going to bed, drawing a line under the day, funny enough, shakes out what’s really important and gradually helps you align with your priorities.
I’ve learned that I don’t need to be in distress or “earn” rest to give myself permission to slow down, get quiet, or come to a complete stop.
I’ve learned that I don’t need to be in distress or earn rest to give myself permission to slow down, get quiet, or come to a complete stop.
I also prioritise having alone and quiet time, whether it’s spending time in my studio, getting out for a walk, disappearing into a good book, or doing absolutely nothing at all.
In fact, if I notice that I’m not getting to read, journal, stretch my body or do some form of drawing, painting or making, I take this as a signal that life is a bit too busy at the moment. Rest and quiet time help me figure out what I need to say no to so that I get to say yes to more of the relationships, things, activities and opportunities that matter.
Of course, some seasons of my life require me to be, for example, more social, or I just happen to have a lot on. This is fine, but I also know that I have a limit to where this feels okay and even good —it’s about 2-4 weeks, depending on how restful life was before the busyness. The busyness must also be temporary, not ongoing. Side note: You only gain this information about yourself from tuning in and trial and error!
Truth be told, I’ve always been this way; it’s just that for a long time, I was tuned out of my body, and other things (e.g. being super social, fitting in, motherhood) dictated how I thought I had to show up. And that’s fine. We all evolve, and there are things we could get away with before.
I’ve realised that it’s not either/or but an and also. I can have the need for more rest and quiet time without being less of a partner and mother, for instance.
Now, the reality is, I can ignore my need for more rest and quiet time in service of others, the pursuit of other things, and because it doesn’t fit my idea of who I think I am (my seeming ambition and ego often want me to do way more), or I can respect it.
My need for more rest and quiet time isn’t a criticism of me or a failure on my part. My needs and bandwidth have evolved. I’ve evolved.
My need for more rest and quiet time isn’t a criticism of me or a failure on my part; my needs and bandwidth have evolved. I’ve evolved.
As a result, I cannot push, struggle-bus, strive, hustle, people-please, perfect, and brown-knuckle my way through life because my body tends to slam on the breaks and go, “Homey don’t play dat.” Shout-out to fellow fans of 90s legendary comedy In Living Color.
My body also gives me physical symptoms like sarcoidosis (a mystery immune system disease I had in my twenties), panic attacks and depression (also twenties), vertigo (thirties) and tinnitus (thirties and forties), burnout (each decade but didn’t know what it was till my forties), and IBS (very thirties, some forties). And it would be remiss of me not to point out that most of my lifelong habits (e.g. people pleasing, perfectionism and over-responsibility) were my way of often unconsciously managing anxiety while inadvertently fuelling it.
Allowing myself to lean into my greater need for rest and quiet time brought me face-to-face with neglected and unseen aspects of myself.
As a child, I didn’t learn about having limits and associated them with being “lazy”, a “slacker”, and “not giving and doing my best”. Limits? What limits? Feelings/needs/values/boundaries? Um, what are those?
Some of my old rest habits were my way of getting out of what I’d overcommitted to through people pleasing.
Truthfully, some of my old rest habits were my way of getting out of what I’d overcommitted to through people pleasing. You know, like when you get sick or have an emergency, and you privately breathe a sigh of relief that you have an out from what you now recognise you didn’t need/want to do or didn’t have the bandwidth for. I also sometimes carried on like I had to “earn” rest or pay it back by using the bandwidth I regained from rest to do even more than before. I know, I know. Make it make sense!
I’ve also learned that sometimes I’m not tired but hungry.
And sometimes, it’s that I need to say no to myself because I’m expecting too much.
Or, sometimes I feel tired, flat, and drained, but it’s because how I’ve been thinking about or approaching something triggered anxiety.
I only know this stuff because I’ve had to get into a dialogue with myself and because of trial and error and noticing what might be subtle but crucial differences. Also, resting and living my life in a way that calms my nervous system means I’m not near-constantly operating from a place of anxiety like I used to be.
In fact, I’ve found that if I’m living my life in a way that generally leaves me feeling good in myself, the net result is that my needs are being met. Boom! I don’t need to interrogate the shizzle out of that; I just need to be willing to listen to and follow the things that genuinely work for me.
Incidentally, it’s the same for you.
Do you have something that you sense you need to do for yourself in order to feel happier and more like you?
An audio version of this post plus a couple of journaling prompts are available below for paid subscribers.