Why I Can’t Sleep at Night (Even When I Do Everything ‘Right’)
You do everything “right.”
Dark room. No screens. Herbal tea. Meditation before bed.
But you still wake up tired — jaw tight, body heavy, like you never truly turned off.
This isn’t just a sleep problem. It’s a tension problem.
In this piece, I share what helped me finally understand:
Real rest doesn’t begin at night. It begins in how we move through our day.
(In tomorrow’s paid subscriber guide, I’ll share small, body-based practices to help you unwind stress during the day — not by doing less, but by softening the grip from within.)
It was the third morning in a row of tracking my sleep data.
I shuffled downstairs, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, already thinking about the day ahead. I pulled out my phone and glanced at my sleep data: eight full hours. A “good” night’s sleep by length — but not by depth.
And there it was again: my deep sleep, half of what’s optimal.
I rubbed my temples as I unloaded the dishwasher. “I just don’t get it,” I told Alona, standing nearby at the kitchen table. “I’ve been doing everything right — dark room, no devices, meditation before bed, even earplugs. I’ve dialed in my nighttime routine. So why can’t I get my deep sleep up?”
She looked at me, patient and a little weary. “Matt,” she said softly, “I keep telling you — it’s not your bedtime routine. It’s your daytime routine.”
And in that moment, something inside me cracked open. I felt the weight of the last few months settle on my chest.
The intensity I carry through every hour — racing from client to client, squeezing in one more article to read, one more task to complete, one more box to check — all in the name of staying on top of things, creating relief, feeling productive.
If I’m really honest, I’ve always been this way. Driven. Focused. Type A.
And here’s the vulnerable part: I know better.
I know how to pause. How to soften. How to create space. I teach this to others. I coach it. But when it comes to myself, if I’m not careful, I slip right back into the old pattern — doing instead of being, solving instead of sitting, clenching instead of trusting.
So when I looked at my sleep numbers — adequate REM, high core ‘light’ sleep, low deep sleep — it all clicked— not just in my head, but in my body.
Here’s the hard truth: It’s not that my body can’t rest at night. It’s that I often don’t give it space to downshift during the day.
What My Body Was Trying to Tell Me
The more I dug into the research, the clearer it became:
My sleep problem wasn’t happening at night. It was happening all day long.
When we move through our days in a constant state of tension — bracing, pushing, striving — we wind our nervous system tighter and tighter. By the time night comes, we’re so coiled up that no amount of dark rooms, no screens, or bedtime meditations can fully unwind us.
Imagine your nervous system like a rope. Each time you tense, push, clench, or brace, you wind it tighter. By night, you’re a tightly coiled knot — and we expect a single bath or meditation to undo twelve hours of gripping. But ropes don’t unwind in a snap. They loosen slowly, with steady softening across the day.
And the science backs this up.
Elevated REM sleep can signal your brain is working overtime — processing emotional overload and trying to make sense of the day’s tension. High core (light) sleep often points to hypervigilance — your system staying light, alert, and ready for threat. And low deep sleep? That’s where your body misses the chance to rebuild, to heal, to truly restore.
Put simply, you wake up foggy because your brain was busy sorting emotions, but your body didn’t get the deep repair time it needed.
No wonder I was waking up with muscles that felt like they’d been exercising all night. No wonder my jaw ached, my shoulders hunched, my chest stayed heavy.
Here’s the kicker: I thought I was managing it.
I thought I could outsmart the stress.
When the Body Can’t Let Go
Cortisol — your body’s main stress hormone — is supposed to fall at night and rise gently before dawn, prepping you to wake.
But when you live in constant tension — overworking, overthinking, emotionally overloaded — that cortisol stays elevated long after the day ends.
And the result? Your sleep gets reshaped:
More light sleep: your system stays alert, hovering just below rest.
Less deep sleep: the body misses its chance to repair, rebuild, detoxify.
Fragmented REM: your emotional reset is cut short.
Even if your mind wants to rest, your body doesn’t get the message.
It stays on duty — guarded, vigilant, unable to fully drop.
That’s why you wake up feeling like you ran a marathon in your dreams.
Not because you didn’t sleep. But because your body never got to let go.
What This Means for You
When stress reshapes your sleep, your body often prioritizes emotional processing (REM) over physical repair (deep sleep). Why? Because the daily emotional load — the tension you carry, the mental overwork, the unresolved pressures — creates urgent overnight cleanup. But that leaves your physical body under-recovered.
And here’s something important: your body isn’t failing you — it’s trying to help you cope, even if the tradeoff leaves you depleted.
This is why you might wake up:
Mentally alert but physically heavy and achy
Quick to irritate or snap, even when you “should” feel rested
More vulnerable to little stressors, energy dips, or getting sick
It’s not just about how long you sleep — it’s about how your system allocates recovery time. And that’s where we can start making small, gentle shifts during the day. Every pause, every softening, is a quiet vote for more balanced, whole-body restoration at night.
The New Realization: Bedtime Starts at Noon
The truth is, you can’t out-sleep a life spent clenched.
This was the hard (and oddly liberating) realization: My bedtime routine doesn’t begin when the sun goes down. It begins halfway through my day — or maybe even earlier.
It begins when I notice how tightly I’m holding my shoulders on a tense Zoom call. When I catch myself squeezing in one more client session or one more article to read, telling myself, just this one more thing to feel a hit of relief. When I feel the familiar pull to solve the unsolvable, instead of just sitting with the discomfort.
Relief is finishing the last email at 10 p.m. so you can finally unclench. Pleasure is closing the laptop at 8, lighting a candle, and reading because it actually nourishes you. Relief comes after pushing past your limits. Pleasure asks you to stay within them — and still feel full.
Relief is like taking off a pair of tight pants — the easing of discomfort created by pushing past your limits. Pleasure, by contrast, fills you up. It brings softness, space, and joy — not just the end of aching, but the beginning of ease.
Every small, softening act I take during the day becomes a vote for rest at night. Every time I pause, unclench, or ask myself, Is this coming from anxious relief or true pleasure?, I’m unwinding one loop of the rope.
A Gentle Framework for Unwinding
Here’s what I’m starting to practice — imperfectly, but with intention:
Notice daytime intensity. Where am I tightening, rushing, or bracing right now?
Interrupt the cycle. Just a 1% softening. A longer exhale. A jaw release. A shoulder drop.
Check the energy. Am I squeezing in one more thing from a contracted, anxious place — chasing relief? Or am I choosing it from a place of joy and expansiveness?
Reframe rest. Rest isn’t something you earn at night. It’s something you layer through your day.
Use data as a doorway, not a weapon. My sleep numbers aren’t here to shame me — they’re here to show where my system needs more kindness.
Finally, I remind myself: I’m not here to master this perfectly. I’m here to walk alongside others, practicing these gentle shifts together.
Why This Matters
This isn’t just about sleep.
It’s about how we show up for the people we love. It’s about how we carry ourselves through the world — clenched and armored, or soft and available. It’s about the invisible costs of pushing too hard for too long, even when we know better.
When I’m rested, I’m a better partner to Alona. I’m more patient with my daughters, Kylee and Jordan. I’m less reactive, less brittle, less likely to reach for calorie-dense food or screens to numb out.
Most importantly, I’m more aligned with the life I want to live — not just the one I can live when I grind hard enough.
Guided Reflection: A Softening Practice
Wherever you are right now, pause.
Take a breath.
On a scale from 1 to 10, how clenched or braced does your body feel?
Now ask gently: What’s one place I could soften — just a little?
Maybe your jaw.
Maybe your shoulders.
Maybe your belly or your hands.
Let something drop — just 1%.
Add a sigh, a hum, or place a hand on your chest. Let your body know: You’re allowed to stop holding it all right now.
Ask yourself:
If I do one more thing today, am I chasing relief — or choosing pleasure?
Is this urgency, or joy?
Then take one long, slow exhale.
And remind yourself — not harshly, but softly:
You don’t have to solve the unsolvable today.
You only have to stay with the part of you that’s scared it can’t be solved — and offer it the one thing it’s rarely given: your calm, quiet presence.
Just One Thing
As you finish reading, ask yourself: What’s one small shift you could make today — just one — to support better rest tonight? Not a perfect overhaul, not a whole new routine. Just one softening, one pause, one choice to care for your system.
Set down your phone five minutes earlier. Pause for three long breaths before your next task. Let yourself skip that “one last thing” and go to bed just as you are.
Pick one. Let it be enough. Tiny changes ripple. You are already on your way.
Every time you soften — even just a little — you’re loosening that tightly wound rope. One breath. One pause. One release. That’s how the body begins to trust you again.
Closing
You’re not broken because you wake up tired. You’re not failing because you struggle to rest.
You’re human — carrying a lot. Doing your best. Learning (like me) how to soften into the life you already have.
Let’s practice — imperfectly, together — one breath, one pause, one small unwinding at a time.
We don’t have to do it all — we just have to begin again.
Gentle Sharing Invitation from Dr. Alona & Dr. Matt
If this piece resonated with you, we’d be deeply grateful if you’d consider sharing it with a friend or loved one.
Your word-of-mouth not only helps this work reach more people — it’s one of the most meaningful ways you can support us and help make this space sustainable. Together, we can create a community where more of us feel seen, supported, and less alone.
Thank you for being here, for reading, and for walking this imperfect path alongside us.
Tomorrow: A Deeper Dive for Paid Subscribers
If this piece helped you feel what’s going on in your body, tomorrow’s guide will help you do something about it — gently.
We’ll dive into the mechanics of stress and sleep cycles. And I’ll walk you through the real-life practices Alona and I are using to help the body rest more deeply — even in the middle of busy days.
How to catch the micro-moments when you’re bracing, pushing, or rushing through the day
How to interrupt the loop of “just one more thing” when it’s driven by anxious relief, not true pleasure
Simple somatic shifts you can layer across your workday — even if you’re busy or under pressure
How to sit with the part of you that’s scared to slow down, without shaming or forcing
If you’ve ever felt frustrated by sleep struggles, body tension, or the invisible cost of your own intensity, we’d love to have you join us as a paid subscriber.