Turns Out Rest Takes More than a Bed

The worst is behind you now, Mikey. That’s what one of the very few people on this planet whom I trust told me. He’s a little older. Wiser. And he’s always been a lighthouse in my storms.

Kinda, what he said is true.

It’s been half a year since my OUI. I’ll be back at work on Monday. My blood pressure reading was 120/66 on Wednesday – slightly better than that of my 14-year-old son (126/66). I weigh 188 – lost 44 pounds…the right way. My son and I are in a new place – and we both love it. He’s soaring. Friends, sports, lifting, and going to the best possible school in the fall.

In a nutshell, the legal, financial, emotional, and social stress are like those Shrinky Dinks we used to put in the oven as kids. They went from big to small. They were so cool – until you accidentally stepped on one in the night. Jagged plastic is hell on the bottom of a foot.

Everywhere I look, great things are happening. Opportunities out of the woodwork – and a motivation and drive like I haven’t had since the Clintonian Era. Creativity? Yup.

Here’s where the arc of this story changes.

I crank up the AC. I like sleeping in a cold, dark room, so the warmth and weight of my goose down comforter can do its thing. Crisp, clean, cool sheets on the skin are amazing – particularly when first getting into bed. And white noise coming from the sound machine is as necessary for the ears as brushing your teeth makes the air you breathe feel cleaner – like it’s got more oxygen in it.

The parachute must be appropriately packed for it to function. It takes time and effort to prep for a great night of sleep.

Sleeping masks are strange - everything but that

And this was all in order. With little left to fear or fuss about – even my sleep score is up. Better rest = better everything.

So how is it possible that the other night, after 90 minutes of perfect sleep, I popped up in a panic?

Heart racing. Muscles tense. Feeling of doom and gloom. I got up, grabbed some H2O, and checked in on my sleeping teen. He was fine. I was fine. I told myself, Something has to be wrong. What am I missing? Back to bed, I ran down the checklist in my brain.

That inside voice? It was like, Dude...even your credit score is up. Go back to sleep.

An hour later, a vibrant dream. I had to jump in the water to save someone I know. I got up again. More water. Check in on my kid again. Back to bed.

Another half-hour passes. Working on my thoughts.

Mike! There’s not much more to worry about, man. Call it a night. Sleep!

You know what happens when you think about why you can’t fall asleep, right? You don’t sleep.

Seven months ago, this situation could have taken a turn for the worse. Turn on the TV? NyQuil? ZzzQuil? A glass of wine? Xanax? If your work is hell, it’s a lot hotter of a hell when you’re exhausted. Now, things are different. But if I technically have no reason to be feeling like this, what’s going on?

Maybe I need a CAT scan?

Well… not according to ChatGPT. AI is impressive, and Blue Cross Blue Shield should be grateful for its existence. It is saving them money. Once it gave me the answer I needed, I fell asleep for the rest of the night – no nightmares, no panic – and woke up feeling good.

Here’s the deal. Chronic stress is bad business. And I’ve had lots of it. Years of it.

Stuff that’s documented in a jail sentence of one of my former superintendents.

The guy who accosted me in the parking lot? That’s on video.

The lady who shook the preschooler, and I terminated her because of it? Got elected to my school committee – and became one of my bosses.

The Superintendent who equated supporting LGBTQ+ students with supporting the KKK? He literally refused to help them when they asked. Kept his job.

It sucks when you’re the one who’s supposed to keep people safe - and despite your best efforts…you can’t.

This stuff isn’t just exhausting – it’s soul-eroding. And that’s just the work part. Don’t even get me started on the rest.

ChatGPT has it right, though: The stress ends. But when it’s gone on for so long – even when the mind is at peace – the body doesn’t know it yet. The nervous system fires, even when it doesn’t have to.

And progress doesn’t replace the losses. The job I worked a lifetime for. The identity I thought I had. Big things I thought I’d be a part of. Some hopes. Some dreams…gone.

Even though the progress is good for me, my subconscious feels as though it has lost a loved one.

Putting a light at the end of this post’s tunnel is tricky – because sometimes, the tunnel is actually the story. But here’s what I know now, and maybe what you need to think about too:

Healing doesn’t just mean checking boxes and counting money or blessings – it means letting the body, the heart, and the spirit catch up to the calendar. It means realizing that even when the night is quiet, and your child is safe, and the sheets are cool and crisp…old echoes still rattle the soul.

Each day, those echoes get quieter.

I’m not who I was seven months ago. I’m not even who I was last week. That’s what growth feels like – not always victorious or pain-free. But inch by inch: better. Lighter. More aware. More whole.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve been there – or you’re in it – know this:

Even if your mind says “you’re fine,” but your body says “panic,” that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re human.

The light isn’t always some bright, cinematic beam at the tunnel’s end. Sometimes, it’s the sound of your son’s music he puts on to sleep. Sometimes, it’s the coarsely ground coffee for the French Press first thing in the AM. Sometimes, it’s the subtle, quiet realization that this time, you got through the night without drinking. Without numbing. Without running.

And sometimes, it’s just the guy on the other end of the line reminding you that the worst is behind you – and the best has yet to come.