Insomnia & Sleep

Sleep, REM, (Rapid Eye Movement) and Recovery: Remembering How to Rest

I recall my early and mid-forties as the sleepless years of my recovery. It started when I slowed down the intense training regimen I had kept for years while fighting competitively. By the time I launched my first juice company in 2010, the pressure was overwhelming and the workload never stopped. I'd wake at 6:30 a.m., work all day at the restaurant, get home around 6:00 p.m., spend some time with my daughter, and then—once everyone was asleep—pull out my laptop. I'd work through the night on emails, design projects, or whatever was in the queue. Sometimes I'd fall asleep with the laptop on my chest at 4:00 a.m., catch a few hours of sleep, and do it all again. Weekends, if I wasn’t working, were spent “catching up” on sleep—maybe sleeping in until 9:00 a.m. But overall, I was running on fumes. This went on for years.

I drank too much coffee—two or more espressos daily—to maintain that pace. The real fuel, though, was anxiety. My nervous system was cooked. I didn’t understand it then, but I was addicted to unrest and adrenaline. It matched the chemistry I had maintained for over a decade as a competitive skydiver. During those years, I lived at dropzones in New York and Florida, ran a skydiving business, and rarely slept more than 4–5 hours a night. The adrenaline never stopped, and when I phased out of skydiving, I found a new fix: work.

Through three eras—skydiving, Thai-boxing, and then business building—I never stopped. I was super healthy in terms of diet, but completely wrecked in terms of hormones, nervous system regulation, and sleep hygiene. From around age 41 to 46, I had no active mental health practice. I wasn’t in therapy. I was working, caffeinating, overtraining, and burning through a string of chaotic relationships while neglecting my daughter and avoiding myself. In 2017, I hit an emotional bottom. It wasn’t dramatic. I was “successful” on paper. But internally, I was fragmented, unaware of my anxiety, and living on autopilot.

In 2018 and 2019, I returned to yoga and finally started building a healthy structure around rest and sleep. By then, I had met my wife. We shared a commitment to daily yoga. I worked more normal hours, went to bed earlier. I stopped sneaking out to my laptop after she fell asleep. Gradually, my nervous system began to recalibrate. Ninety minutes of rest through yoga five or six days a week made enough of a difference for me to realize just how unrested I had been for most of my life.

It wasn’t until my early 50s that I began to understand the role of REM sleep in mental health. First, my coffee intake dropped naturally—just one small cup in the morning. I had no energy left by 7 p.m. My pace was still fast, but age and meditation were transforming me. I became more aware of anxiety, let go of my exercise addiction, compressed my work hours, and finally began to cherish sleep—not just as recovery, but as pleasure.

That’s when I noticed something strange. On rare occasions—during a massage, a train ride, or after a long beach day—I’d wake from what felt like a blackout. No dreams. No awareness of falling asleep. Just pure unconsciousness followed by blissful clarity. I’d wake up and feel euphoric, like I had been somewhere deep and clean. That was REM. Not my usual restless dreamscape, but real, healing, deep sleep.

I now see that without REM, even if my body rests, my emotional and spiritual centers remain depleted. REM is the sleep that gives me joy. The sleep that makes waking up feel like coming back from somewhere sacred.

The first step in changing my relationship with sleep was to write an honest inventory. I journaled about my habits, my relationship with caffeine and stimulation, my hyperactive work ethic, and my struggles with intimacy and connection. What emerged was clear: I had been a troubled sleeper since I was two. I was always the last to fall asleep and the first to wake. From ages five to seven, my parents locked my bedroom door from the outside to keep me from wandering into their room—a traumatizing tactic. My sleeping environment never felt safe or comforting. I had no bedtime rituals—no reading, no prayer, no decompression. Later in life, screens became my sedative. I stared at blue light every night to avoid feelings.

Today, I’m no longer trying to stay awake 24 hours a day. I breathe before bed. I set the intention to “go find REM.” Some nights I feel it. Most nights I don’t. But I try. I’ve realized that deep sleep is not just about exhaustion—it’s about emotional safety. It’s about surrendering.

Ancient traditions understood this well. Yogis considered sleep one of the four states of consciousness: waking, dreaming, deep sleep, and turiya—the transcendental state. Deep sleep was seen as a natural form of samadhi, where the ego dissolves and the nervous system resets. Tibetan monks viewed lucid dreaming and dream yoga as paths to self-realization. Shaolin monks trained their bodies during the day and quieted their minds at night, valuing disciplined rest as part of spiritual development.

Modern science now validates what the ancients sensed. REM sleep is the phase where most emotional and memory processing occurs. It’s when the brain consolidates experiences, forms emotional memories, and clears out mental clutter. During REM, the amygdala—our emotional center—is highly active. Neurotransmitters like serotonin and acetylcholine surge. Growth hormone is released. Cortisol levels drop. This is deep repair—not just for muscles and tissues, but for emotions and trauma.

When we’re deficient in key nutrients or imbalanced hormonally, REM becomes compromised. Low levels of serotonin, melatonin, vitamin D3, or magnesium can all disrupt our circadian rhythm. Poor gut health affects neurotransmitter production—since up to 90% of serotonin is made in the gut, an inflamed digestive system can mean an inflamed mind. Friendly bacteria, like Lactobacillus and Bifidobacterium, help modulate GABA and serotonin, both critical for sleep. Stimulants like caffeine, especially in the afternoon, delay melatonin release. Excess screen time tricks the brain into thinking it's still daylight. We lose the hormonal cues that tell us: it’s time to rest.

Despite all this knowledge in the wellness world, sleep is still under-discussed. We talk endlessly about diet, exercise, breathwork, parenting, therapy, character, and even planetary healing—but rarely do we treat REM sleep as essential medicine. And it is.

This is our next breakthrough together. If we want to heal anxiety and addiction, we must heal our sleep. REM is not a luxury. It is a spiritual and biological necessity.

So tonight, breathe deeper. Dim the lights. Let go. Say a prayer. Write your thoughts down. Power off the phone. And close your eyes not just to escape—but to return.

Because true recovery begins when we finally remember how to rest.

Reclaiming Rest:
A New Sleep Story

This is our next breakthrough: reclaiming rest—not just as recovery, but as a foundation of mental health.

The first step is to write an honest inventory of your relationship with sleep. How deeply do you rest? What’s your relationship to stimulation—caffeine, adrenaline, screen time? How is it tied to your work ethic, intimacy, and the state of your nervous system?

When I began journaling about sleep, I saw a pattern stretching back to early childhood. I was always the last to fall asleep and the first to wake. Between ages five and seven, my parents locked my door from the outside to keep me from coming into theirs. It was a harsh, fear-inducing tactic that left an imprint: sleep wasn’t safety—it was punishment.

I had no bedtime rituals. No books. No prayer. No wind-down. Just the eventual collapse into unconsciousness, often in front of a screen. As an adult, that pattern continued. I used stimulation not to relax, but to avoid feeling. Avoid thinking. Avoid being still.

Today, my transformation begins with awareness. I no longer try to stay awake 24 hours a day. I breathe before bed, set an intention, and ask myself to find REM. I treat sleep not only as a necessity, but as a luxury I’m learning to access.

I still don’t always find it. But when I do, I know. REM feels like a blackout—deeper than dreaming. When I wake, I feel lighter. Clearer. Joyful. It’s a happiness sleep. And I want more of it.

Science is catching up with what ancient traditions already knew. Yogic and Tibetan philosophies considered sleep a sacred state—one of the doorways to consciousness. In yogic terms, deep sleep (sushupti) is a stage where the ego dissolves, and the nervous system resets. Tibetan dream yoga saw sleep as an opportunity for self-realization. Shaolin monks understood that rest was as important as action in the path to mastery.

Modern neuroscience agrees: REM sleep is when the brain processes emotions, repairs neurons, and stores memories. It regulates the amygdala, boosts serotonin and acetylcholine, and calms cortisol. It’s where real mental healing occurs. But REM can be fragile. Nutritional deficiencies—like low vitamin D3, magnesium, or omega-3s—impact it. Hormonal imbalances, poor gut health, excessive caffeine, and nighttime screen exposure all interfere. Friendly gut bacteria, critical for serotonin production, help regulate sleep as much as the brain itself.

Insomnia isn’t just a sleep disorder. It’s a mirror. It reflects our anxiety, our beliefs about stillness, our unresolved childhood fears. For many of us, bedtime is when the mind becomes loud. In the quiet, what we’ve avoided during the day surfaces. Add in the artificial stimulation of phones, emails, and social media—and we’ve created an anti-sleep society.

My own childhood aversion to sleep was never fully addressed until I looked at it with clarity. I wasn’t resisting sleep—I was resisting what came with it: fear, separation, emotional neglect. My nervous system learned to brace at night. I had to unlearn that. And that took ritual, structure, and intention.

Start simple. Cut off caffeine after 3 p.m. Power down screens at least 30 minutes before bed. Make your bedroom feel safe—dark, cool, uncluttered. Create a ritual: brush your teeth, read a few pages, breathe deeply, speak gently to yourself. Use nasal breathing to signal safety to your nervous system. Hydrate early in the day, but taper in the evening. Use soft audio—lectures, calm philosophy, non-stimulating topics—to drift if needed.

If dreams keep you restless, plant gentler thoughts. Visualize healing dreams. Praise yourself. Say, “You did enough today. I’m proud of you.” It may feel awkward, but these small acts rewire your system. They train your body to feel safe at night. Over time, sleep becomes a refuge, not a confrontation.

Sleep is as essential as food. It allows our thoughts to recalibrate and our emotions to integrate. You are not lazy for needing it. You are human. Roughly one-third of your life should be spent in rest. You are not wasting time. You are restoring.

Insomnia and anxiety are deeply intertwined. Anxiety interrupts sleep, and poor sleep worsens anxiety. The relationship is cyclical and often invisible—until it breaks us down. One reason this qualifies as a disorder is because the solution demands so much: regulate anxiety, clean up your diet, move your body, write, breathe, reflect, grieve, grow. That’s a lot to ask.

Which is why medical intervention often feels necessary. But if you truly commit to the practices laid out across these volumes, something shifts. You may not need pills, apps, or professionals to fix you. You’ll witness the healing unfold from within.

So tonight, don’t just fall asleep. Prepare. Protect your sleep like you would protect a child’s. Because in a way, that’s what you’re doing. You are reparenting the restless part of you that never felt safe enough to fully let go. Let go now. And go find REM.

Wired and Tired:
Why We Can’t Heal Without Sleep

When our minds are crowded with stress, worry, and stimulation, sleep becomes elusive. But insomnia isn't just about anxiety—there are many contributing factors:

1. Stress: Life changes, work demands, or emotional strain can cause short-term insomnia. Chronic stress hardens into sleepless patterns.

2. Depression: Mood disorders can make it difficult to fall or stay asleep, leading to fragmented, unrestful nights.
   

3. Medical Conditions: Chronic pain, asthma, or diabetes can interfere with sleep quality.

4. Medications: Common prescriptions—especially for high blood pressure, asthma, and depression—may have sleep-disrupting side effects.

5. Stimulants: Caffeine, nicotine, alcohol, sugar, and recreational drugs all impair sleep architecture.

6. Sleep Disorders: Conditions like sleep apnea or restless leg syndrome require specific diagnosis and treatment.

7. Hormonal Changes: Menstruation, pregnancy, and menopause often shift sleep patterns.

8. Aging: Sleep becomes lighter and more fragmented as we grow older.

9. Poor Sleep Hygiene: Irregular routines, too much screen time, and overstimulating environments all work against rest.

Insomnia is rarely one-dimensional. It’s often an emotional and behavioral pattern, shaped by unexamined beliefs, unprocessed feelings, and years of conditioning.

When Sleeplessness Becomes a Habit

I believe insomnia can take on the structure of addiction. We justify staying up late—working, scrolling, thinking—convincing ourselves we don’t need much rest. But like any addictive behavior, this comes at a cost: exhaustion, irritability, emotional fragility, and health decline.

From 2010 to 2016, I routinely worked until 3 or 4 a.m. I convinced myself this was necessary—emails, design projects, startup pressure. But it was unsustainable. The shift came when I wanted to go to bed earlier to be close to my wife. That simple change cracked open the habit.

Even now, I sometimes wake up at 3 a.m.—less from anxiety, more from repetition. I’ll write for a few minutes, then drift back to sleep. It’s a better cycle, but still a legacy of those years.

We often stay wired because we’ve spent all day revving ourselves up. My former business partner, a chronic insomniac, drank too much coffee, stayed up watching financial news, and rarely got a full night’s rest. The result? Mood swings, irritability, and emotional volatility. Lack of sleep shows up in how we relate to others—and ourselves.

The Non-Negotiable Medicine: Sleep isn’t optional. It’s a biological requirement. Every creature with a brain sleeps. Without it, we malfunction. We lose patience, clarity, emotional regulation, and resilience. Our decisions get worse. Our body stops repairing. Our spirit loses connection.

In recovery, rest is everything. Athletes understand that recovery is as critical as training. The same applies to addiction: healing doesn’t happen during exertion—it happens in stillness. You cannot integrate lessons, build emotional tolerance, or regulate your nervous system without deep sleep.

If you want to heal, you need to sleep. And to sleep, you must create a mind and body that welcomes rest.

Practices That Support Recovery Through Sleep:

1. Breathwork Before Bed: Try 10 minutes of slow, nasal breathing or alternate nostril breathing to calm the nervous system.
2. Progressive Muscle Relaxation: Tense and release each muscle group from head to toe, releasing residual tension.
3. Evening Simplicity: Avoid heavy meals, sugar, and animal protein late in the evening. If hungry, opt for something light—fresh fruit,fresh juice (4 ounces), a half of a ripe banana.
4. Ritual: Set a consistent bedtime. Light reading, journaling, prayer, or stretching can cue your body to shift into rest mode.
5. Tech Hygiene: Remove screens and blue light exposure at least an hour before bed. This helps regulate melatonin.
6. Mental Offloading: Write out your thoughts, emotions, or to-do lists before bed. Clear the mental desk.
7. Movement: Daily physical activity, even a 20-minute walk, helps discharge stress hormones and prepares the body for rest.

Reframing Sleep as Sacred: Insomnia isn’t a failure. It’s often the result of overstimulation, unresolved emotion, and unexamined daily habits. The good news? Sleep can be re-learned. It’s a skill—a practice—just like recovery itself. Consistency creates change.

If you take nothing else from this journal entry, take this: sleep is not a luxury. It’s medicine.

When we don’t rest, we become more anxious, more reactive, more vulnerable. And most of us—especially those living in chronic survival mode—are under-rested.

We don’t just need 7–8 hours a night. We also need days of slowness. Of nothing. Lying in bed, taking a bath, journaling, breathing, grooming, reflecting—not as indulgence, but as repair.

Rest is not laziness. It’s life-affirming. Our ability to sleep is a mirror of our ability to let go. To surrender the day. To trust the moment. To say, “It’s safe now.”

Let yourself rest. Not tomorrow—tonight. Protect your sleep as you would a child’s. Because in many ways, that’s what you’re doing.

Sleep is healing. Sleep is essential. Sleep is one of the most radical, loving things you can offer yourself.

Let this be your new bedtime story.