The Quiet Loneliness of Being Tired

Yesterday kicked off the AASM’s annual SLEEP conference in Seattle. I’ve been lucky to be part of the greater sleep community for a few years now, and I love it. I run into sleep doctors, researchers, product developers—and most importantly—friends with sleep disorders. We hug, swap updates on meds, ask how each other’s doing.

I feel seen in my sleepiness.

But that wasn’t always the case.

When I was sixteen, something strange started happening. I’d be sitting in class, fully engaged, tracking every word—and then a fog would roll in. It hijacked my brain. Numbed my senses. Sedated me mid-sentence.

I tried everything to stay awake—pinching my thigh, tapping my foot, even biting my tongue so hard it bled. But the same thought always crashed through: If I don’t go to sleep right now, I’m going to die.

So I’d excuse myself, slip into a bathroom stall, lean my head against the wall, and fall asleep. Fifteen minutes later, I’d wake up, sneak back into class, and pretend everything was fine.

I told my family doctor. Her response is still seared into my memory:
“You’re busy. And busy people are tired.”

That line followed me into college, then to my first job on the Hill.
I worked as a congressional staffer, then as an advance person for President Obama. I was surrounded by the best and the brightest—and everyone was tired.

But none of them were sneaking off to nap in bathroom stalls.

I felt so alone in my exhaustion.

In my early 30s, it got worse. I finally told a friend I was exhausted no matter how much I slept. That it felt like I was moving through life under a weighted blanket.

She said: “You don’t know what tired is. I’ve got a four-month-old in sleep regression.”

She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t possibly understand her version of tired.
But she couldn’t understand mine either.

After that, I pulled back. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
Maybe this was just what getting older felt like.

It wasn’t.

Three years later, I was diagnosed with narcolepsy.

Suddenly the symptoms made sense:
Feeling like I’d been awake for 72 hours within minutes of getting out of bed.
Sleep attacks that came out of nowhere.
That crushing quicksand feeling I thought was just… me.

Women especially are taught to push through.
We juggle careers and caregiving. We power through pain and fatigue. We wear our exhaustion like a badge of honor.

But the truth is—women, especially in our 40s and 50s, experience the most sleep disturbances just as we’re stepping into our power professionally. Perimenopause. Menopause. The rise in conditions like sleep apnea.

And still, we stay quiet.

Yes, there will be seasons where exhaustion is normal—newborns, deadlines, grief.

But we deserve a space to say:
“This feels like too much.”
“This feels wrong.”
And we deserve people who will listen.

Because sometimes our “tired” is different.
In fact, 1 in 5 people has a sleep disorder that requires medical attention—but due to stigma, lack of education, and silence, these conditions remain chronically underdiagnosed.

I spent decades feeling lonely in my tired. My only hope now is that someone else doesn’t have to.

So here’s my challenge to you this week:
Ask one friend, “How’s your sleep?” And then—just listen.

You might be the person who helps them feel a little less alone—and finally seen enough to ask for support.