Why You Can’t Sleep

Dearest reader, I come to you from my laptop, on my couch, at 11:03 pm on a Tuesday. The Real Housewives of some city keeping me company on my TV.

If you’re a special needs mom , you probably don’t need anyone to tell you how important sleep is—you feel it in your bones every day. But what’s harder to explain is how sleep has become more of a memory than a reality. While the rest of the world assumes our kids will start “sleeping through the night” after the baby stage, many of us are still running on fumes—years later. Because when your child doesn’t sleep through the night—and hasn’t for years—your nights don’t feel restful, they feel like a second shift.

Autism Doesn’t Sleep—and Neither Do We

When my son was born, I expected the sleepless nights. Newborn life comes with late-night feeds and early wake-ups. But I never imagined we’d still be up most nights years later, with no end in sight. My son has autism, and sleep has always been a challenge—falling asleep, staying asleep, waking up at 3 a.m. wide-eyed and ready to go, or melting down because his body can’t settle. Through research I have learned that it’s due to a disruption in his circadian rhythm. His body signals aren’t working as efficiently as others, and he struggles to get adequate sleep because of it. 

I’ve tried all the tricks: weighted blankets, sound machines, visual schedules, supplements, behavioral strategies. Some helped a little. Some didn’t help at all, some made things considerably worse. The hardest part isn’t just helping him sleep—it’s helping myself rest when I’m always on high alert.

Constant Vigilance

Even when my son is asleep, I’m not. I’m listening to the monitor, peeking into his room, making sure the doors are locked and alarms are set. I’m trying to predict if tonight will be one of the “good” nights—or if I’ll be up calming him down at 2 a.m. because his brain and body are in overdrive.

This level of hyper-awareness isn’t something I can switch off. It’s wired into me now. And it’s exhausting.

And Then There’s Travel…

As hard as it is to get rest at home, traveling is often worse. Our house is secure—like, Fort Knox secure. Door alarms. Locks. Safety gates. Furniture bolted to walls. We’ve created a space where I can (mostly) trust that if I close my eyes, my son will be okay. 

But in a hotel? Or someone else’s house? I can’t turn off my worry. I’ve spent entire nights wide awake in unfamiliar places, too afraid to sleep. I’ve dragged chairs in front of hotel doors and slept in short bursts with one ear open. I’ve opted out of vacations altogether because I knew the lack of sleep—and the fear—would leave me more depleted than if we stayed home.

So we stay home more often than we’d like—not because we don’t want to travel, but because sleep (and safety) is too important to gamble with. That’s a reality many don’t understand. We’re not just tired—we’re sleeping in survival mode.

Enter: Revenge Bedtime Procrastination

And then, there’s this thing we do—maybe you do it too. The dishes are done. The kids are asleep (for now). You should go to bed. You need to go to bed.

But you don’t.

Instead, you scroll your phone. You binge a show (enter Real Housewives). You sit in complete silence doing absolutely nothing. Even though you’re exhausted. Even though you know you’ll regret it in the morning.

It’s called revenge bedtime procrastination, and it’s so common among special needs parents.

Why? Because we spend all day (and often all night) taking care of everyone else. We are caregivers, therapists, advocates, and protectors (all of this in addition to the work outside of the home we do). Our time is not our own. So when the house is finally quiet and no one needs us—for once—we take it back. We steal a sliver of peace and autonomy, even if it costs us precious sleep.

And while it may not be the healthiest habit, it makes sense. It’s not laziness or poor time management—it’s a desperate attempt to feel like a human again.

The Toll of It All

Living like this—sleep-deprived, constantly on edge, emotionally and physically drained—isn’t sustainable. And yet, we keep going. We show up, day after day, night after night. But the toll it takes? It’s real. It’s heavy. And most people don’t see it.

If you’re reading this while rubbing your eyes after another rough night, or wondering if you’re the only one who dreads “vacation sleep,” let me tell you:

You are not alone.

What Helps (Even Just a Little)

Prioritize Safe Sleep Spaces—At Home and Away

Install whatever you need to feel safe enough to rest. Door alarms, blackout curtains, noise machines, safety locks. And if you must travel, bring those things with you. Sleep isn’t possible if you don’t feel your child is safe.

Build a Routine That Includes You

Include a short wind-down ritual just for yourself. A warm shower. Ten minutes of reading. One cup of tea. Give yourself closure to the day—even if you know you’ll be up again in a few hours.

Lean on Other Autism Parents

Talk to someone who gets it. Someone who also sees 3 a.m. more often than they’d like. Vent. Laugh. Cry. Community makes everything feel less heavy.

Ask for Support

Let someone else watch your child for a few hours if you can. Say yes to help. Trade nights off with your partner. You deserve sleep. You need sleep. My husband and I will often trade off our morning to sleep in over the weekend. No matter what happens during the night, one of us will get up with the kids in the morning on Saturday and allow the other parent to sleep in, and then we switch for Sunday morning. It’s not perfect and we don’t have the luxury of successfully doing this most weekends but that extra hour or two on a Saturday morning can make a huge difference.

Be Kind to Yourself

You are functioning in extreme conditions. Of course you’re tired. Of course you’re emotional. Of course you need breaks. Give yourself grace.

From One Sleep-Deprived Mama to Another

You are not alone.

If your house feels like a fortress, your nights feel like a battlefield, and your brain feels like it’s running on 5%, I see you. If you stay up scrolling after bedtime because it’s the only moment that feels like yours, I get it. If sleep feels like a distant dream, I’m right there with you.

This life is beautiful and brutal. We love our kids fiercely—and that love keeps us going, even through the sleepless nights.

You are doing so much more than most people know. You are not lazy. You are not weak. You are exhausted because you are everything to someone who needs you—day and night.

Sleep may be scarce in our world. But strength?

You have that in abundance.