Club 4am

Recently, I’ve become a member of a club that I don’t want to belong to. The name probably gives it away, but Club 4am starts at…well you’ll catch on. Nobody wants to be here, we all just, sort of turn up, awake, against our will. And unfortunately, the defining thing about this club is that we are all trying to leave. 

I will say that Club 4am tends to draw a type. A type that has a few names, women of a certain age, women going through a change of life, or a newly discovered personal favorite, reverse puberty. We’re all here, we’re trying to sleep and…it’s not really happening for us.

I’m not sure when I got into Club 4am. I think it  just happened one day, and the next and the next, and suddenly I wasn’t not in the club. This club isn’t exclusive. Far from it, it welcomes all. Most of my friends are here. Guess what kids, I’m finally in the hottest club in town! But these are not the night sweats I was looking for.

When I tried to tell people about Club 4am, they wouldn’t let me. Mostly because they were so busy telling me about how they were in Club 4am too. Want to hit it off with that other promising mom at school pickup? Don’t bother with the small talk. Ask her how she’s sleeping. You can thank me later. 

The thing about Club 4am is that it’s an in-between space. As Britney Spears so famously sang about a related topic, not night, not yet a day. The specificity of 4 in the 4am is material. At 6, you know you can give the day a go. At 2, there’s no question that you have to go back down. But 4 is hard - do you try or do you give up? Don’t bother answering, it’s a trick question.

And whichever way you commit, your body will betray you. If you try to wake up, sleep will stand at your shoulder for the rest of the day, frowning, disappointed. If you try to go back to sleep, well, good luck with that one.

The lack of sleep was keeping me up at night, literally and figuratively. Enough to inspire this essay, evidently. At times, Club 4am feels like a twilight zone plot line. Or one of those deal-with-the-devil stories that you tell young children to teach them to be careful what they wish for. Yes I did want time and quiet to be by myself. But not for a few hours in the middle of the night before a full day of work and parenting! What do you mean it was in the fine print?! (Of course I didn’t read that. Who does? Besides, the font was too small and getting my reading glasses required leaving the couch.)

I am curious though, how did you find us? Just kidding. I know how. Doomscrolling at, shall we all say it together? 4am! What was your path? Did you ask the internet if something was wrong with you? Or were you perhaps more practical and searching for solutions? 

Even if you weren’t looking, the algorithm will find you. I mean, we’re right here, between searching for gravity-defying underwear, wondering where all our friends went, and general existential angst. We are absolutely a stereotype. So what? Finally something goes according to plan and we’re mad? 

Oh come on, at least it’s not lonely. You’ve got company here. A lot of company. Move aside, old boys network, here comes old girls club! We convene every night. Or should I say morning? Together, but alone. 

You know who is not in this club? Everyone else in your house. They are fast asleep. Some of them have the nerve to snore loudly, just to drive it in a little more. And they wake up in the mornings awake, alive, full of energy. But you, apparently, don’t deserve that. No sleep for you!

It feels like I just spent the last few years being jolted rudely awake by crying babies. And now, when it’s all settling down the monster has moved within the house. It’s an inside job now.

So now that the club meeting is called to order, let’s ask the question that is on all our minds. Why are we here? We’d rather be asleep. We’d rather not be ruminating on that one thing that one person at work said as a throwaway comment. You told yourself it was nothing and not to think of it. Except here you are, back in the club, dumpster diving in your subconscious.

Or how about that one thought sequence with a recurring role? Yes, you have been in this job for 5 years. No, you haven’t been promoted yet. And yes, you agree that it feels deserved. And no you don’t know why it hasn’t happened. That one is worth a mention, because like a good earworm, it starts where it ends. It can go on in circles as long as you can, and longer. It even runs while you are sleeping.

Nothing gets past 4am brain. That thing you said when you were 9, at your school assembly and the students barely registered but you saw the look your favorite teacher gave the other one? Club 4am eats that for breakfast. An early breakfast, of course.

And that time you agreed a little too enthusiastically when your friend mentioned that she was considering divorce but then didn’t go through with it? That is certainly on the highlight reel.  

“But have you tried [insert name of trendy new treatment]?”. No, I haven’t, Gretchen. If I had, I wouldn’t be writing this, would I? At, you guessed it, 4am. 

“Have you tried exercising?” I hear from the back. No, I haven’t. And that’s because I’m too tired…from not sleeping. (Also, my exercise pants don’t fit anymore.)

If you’ve read this far, you are probably wondering what the resolution of this essay is going to be. Will I magically reveal the thing that solved it for me and let me have the energy to write this essay in the first place? If that’s the case, you’re going to want to go ahead and lower those expectations.

Well, there is a thing. But I wouldn’t call it a solution. 

It’s the love child of insomnia and perimenopause. Anger. I’m writing this essay because I’m angry that I’m tired. And I’m tired of being angry. I want the world to know that I can’t sleep. And that many of us can’t. And we’re expected to accept it as a part of life, in heels, backwards, sweating in our pajamas. I’m aware of the therapies and their distant relatives, and I may go in that direction one day but that is not what this is about. Today is about waking up (on purpose) and taking stock. 

I’m here, eyes wide open, and extremely miffed. There will be no references to how, in the grand scheme of things, this is not the worst problem one could have. There will be no motions to make the most of the early mornings. Or of how actually I  don’t really need that much sleep to be functional. Today I’m here to declare (quietly, as the others are still asleep) that I don’t like Club 4am.