Sleep struggles and exhaustion during grief

Before you dive in, I want you to know this is a work of fiction. The people and events are not real, but the feelings, decisions, and struggles may remind you of your own life. I create stories based on my own experience and on what I have witnessed in others who have grieved the loss of a loved one. You might see bits of yourself in the choices the characters make or the emotions they go through. If it feels familiar, that is no accident. The lessons hidden in this story are meant to carry into real life, even though the tale itself is imagined.

The house was quiet, but not peaceful. After Lily’s death, silence filled every room like a weight. Nights felt endless, like time itself had forgotten them.

Eliza would drift toward sleep only to wake startled, her heart pounding, her mind replaying moments she couldn’t change. Mark lay beside her, motionless, pretending to rest so she wouldn’t know he was awake too. Both were exhausted, but after what happened to Lily, they just couldn’t find restful sleep.

One night, Eliza whispered into the darkness, her voice barely holding together. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

Mark turned toward her. “Me too,” he said softly. “When I close my eyes, I stop hearing her laugh. I don’t want it to go quiet.”

That small exchange cracked the silence between them. They had named the truth of their pain, and that vulnerability allowed them to give each other the love and understanding they both needed.

Grief often traps us in the belief that we have to be strong, silent, or stoic, but what if courage looks like saying, I can’t do this alone? What if connection, not endurance, is the path through sorrow?

In that shared moment, Mark and Eliza found a little bit of what they needed in each other. And sometimes, that little spring board is just the step we need.

A Ritual of Connection

The next evening, instead of lying awake in quiet, they lighted a solitary candle in front of Lily's portrait. Eliza recounted a bedtime tale to her daughter, as if she could still hear. Mark shared a memory of her crazy dance routines. They both laughed and then sobbed, but the candle's flame, the tears, and the storytelling allowed them to take a deeper breath. Grief had been given form, and for the first time in weeks, they slid into bed with gentler hearts.

Gentle Rhythms for Rest

Sleep did not return all at once. But Eliza began dimming the lights an hour before bed, lowering the house into twilight. Mark filled the silence with soft instrumental music, the kind Lily used to hum along to. Slowly, these small rituals became a signal: the day is ending, and the body can rest. It wasn’t perfect, but the battle at bedtime felt less fierce.

Permission to Rest

Still, guilt would creep in. Eliza confessed one night, “If I sleep, it feels like I’m letting her go.” Her voice was raw, and tears stained the pillow. Mark clasped her hand tightly. “Resting isn’t letting go. Resting is how we stay alive to keep loving her.”

Wow!  What a beautiful reminder that sleep was survival, not betrayal, that freed them to accept rest, even in fragments. It was not an abandonment of their daughter but a way to carry her more gently.

Seeking Outside Voices

Weeks later, when the exhaustion became unbearable, Mark found a local grief group. They sat in folding chairs, listening as strangers described the same midnight torment. One mother admitted she still slept with her daughter’s blanket; another said she often stayed awake until dawn. Suddenly, Mark and Eliza realized their sleeplessness wasn’t brokenness; it was grief being lived out loud.

What Helped Them Sleep Again

Mark and Eliza’s story reminds us that exhaustion during grief is a natural response to heartbreak. Along their journey, they found that:

1. Open communication eased their loneliness and made their struggle less isolating. 
2. Rituals of remembrance, like lighting a candle and sharing stories, gave grief a container. 
3. Gentle bedtime rhythms, such as dim lighting and soothing music, helped signal safety and calm. 
4. Permission to rest without guilt, reframed sleep as survival, not betrayal. 
5. Community support normalized their experience and lessened the shame of sleeplessness. 

These practices work because they soothe the nervous system, create safe spaces for grief, and reduce the pressure of “trying to sleep.”