My antique silver desk fan was the only item that let me sleep properly for a long time. I thought I needed the fan’s soft, steady hum and the nice air it made on my face to fall asleep. My buddies made fun of me a lot over it, and my coworker Maxton even said something funny: “I’d rather marry a fan than a person.” I just laughed and didn’t really think about why I needed it.
But then, things changed. I saw an item online last week that really struck my eye. It warned that sleeping with a fan on could dry up your throat, make your allergies worse, and maybe even make your asthma worse. This news really got to me. I immediately recognized that this might be why I often woke up with a dry, “scratchy voice.” The idea made me feel uneasy.
The First Attempt at Quiet
I chose to sleep without my fan that night. I unplugged it, got into bed, and lay there in complete silence. At first, I thought I would get used to the quiet. But the silence was strange and made me uneasy. The house made a lot more noise than normal. The fan’s noise generally relaxed my mind, but tonight it made me think of all the things I usually put off during the day, such bills I hadn’t paid, writing projects that hadn’t moved ahead, and even that “awkward dinner with my sister’s fiancé who kept checking his phone.”
I kept rolling around since I couldn’t find a comfortable spot in bed. By 2 AM, I couldn’t take it anymore. I gave in and turned the fan back on. As soon as I heard the normal whirring sound, I felt better. But even though it was warm, “I couldn’t shake the unease from what I’d read.” I had a significant problem on my mind: Was I really hurting myself just to feel better?
Sharing and Doubts
I told my neighbor Callista about the story and how I couldn’t sleep properly the night before over coffee the next morning. She just laughed and remarked, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” But then her teenage son Ewan, who just happened to be listening, spoke up. He said, “His friend’s dad got bronchitis and blamed his fan at night.” This small incident made me doubt myself more and more.
That night, I tried a new plan. I decided to sleep with the fan facing away from me. I thought I could still hear the comforting sound without the air blowing on me. But I woke up at 4 AM “soaked in sweat.” In July, it was really hot, and my bedding stuck to me like wet towels. I finally gave up on my experiment and pointed the fan straight at my face, giving in to the comfort I really wanted. I gave up on my experiment and “snapped and pointed the fan straight at my face again,” giving in to the comfort I actually wanted.
A Better Understanding
A few days later, I had lunch with Saira, an old friend from college. She said she was having trouble sleeping and had been seeing a sleep therapist. I took a big breath and told her how anxious I was about the fan. I thought she would just ignore it. But what she said next “shocked me.” Her therapist told her that some people have “sleep associations so strong they can’t rest without a certain sound or object,” like my fan. But she claimed the real problem was that people used it too frequently, which could be “masking deeper issues, like anxiety or unresolved stress.”
I tried to hide how I felt, but her words kept coming back to me. “Was I really using the fan’s hum to keep me from thinking about what was really keeping me awake?” This was a new and unsettling idea.
Confronting the Unseen
That night, I decided to record myself sleeping on my phone. I wanted to test if the fan was making me cough or snore. I didn’t hear any coughing when I watched the video the next day. But I could hear myself talking in my sleep! I kept saying things like “I’m sorry” and “please don’t leave.” It was quite upsetting. Who did I tell I was sorry? And why did I sound so hopeless?
I felt like I was losing my focus all day. Leontyne, my employer, sent me an email about it since I missed a deadline at work. During our video conference, she asked me if something was wrong. I wasn’t sure if I should tell her what was going on, but in the end, I decided to be honest and told her that I had been having trouble sleeping. She informed me, “I’ve had trouble sleeping for years after my divorce,” which surprised me. The news made me feel better because I realized I wasn’t the only one.
I sat on my bed that night and thought about the last time I had genuinely relaxed. “Before my dad died,” it had been years. At the time, I didn’t need a fan. I would just lie in bed and listen to Dad hum old blues tunes in the kitchen. Knowing he was there made me feel safe. After he died, the house felt “too quiet, too empty.” That was the first time I ever bought a fan.
The feelings were so strong that I thought I couldn’t breathe. The fan wasn’t just for comfort; it was “a replacement for the safety I lost.” Before that, I had never made this important connection.
Accepting the Quiet and Moving On
That night, I unplugged the fan and got into bed, determined to deal with the silence once and for all. I thought about my dad and all the conversations we never finished. I let myself cry for the first time in months. It was really quiet, but it was also true. “I finally felt like I wasn’t running anymore,” I said for the first time.
The next few nights were terrible. I didn’t get a lot of sleep. But I didn’t switch the fan back on. I started writing in a journal before I went to bed instead. I wrote letters to myself, my dad, and the people I thought I had hurt or let down. Every night, I felt a little better. The dark didn’t seem as scary anymore.
One night, I called my sister Lyndra. We hadn’t talked much in weeks since we didn’t agree on how to take care of our mom. I told her how hard it was for me to sleep and how much I missed Dad. On the other end of the call, she got tearful and said, “I have also been having the same restless nights.” We both felt stuck, but talking helped us “move forward together.”
A few days later, my neighbor Callista came over with some banana bread she had made herself. She heard that my fan wasn’t making noise anymore and decided to check on me. I told her everything, and to my surprise, she said she still sleeps with her late husband’s robe on her pillow. We chatted about how to deal with sadness, love, and the “silly things we do to feel close to people we’ve lost” until midnight.
A week later, I decided to see Dr. Hakim, Saira’s sleep therapist. He didn’t say anything bad about the fan. Instead, he helped me understand why I thought I needed it and showed me some easy breathing exercises and techniques to be more aware of myself. “Sleep isn’t just about noise or silence,” he said. “It’s about feeling safe enough to let go.”
As time went on, I started to fall asleep in the quiet. I didn’t want the fan anymore. I was proud and shocked that it took me so long to deal with something that seemed straightforward but was “so deeply rooted in my past.”
Gifts that surprise and new beginnings
Then something happened that I never expected. Leontyne, my boss, called me into her office one morning. I was worried that I would get in trouble again, but instead, “she gave me the chance to lead a new project.” She remarked, “She’d seen a change in me—a new focus and calmness.” I suddenly understood that those nights of being honest with myself had changed me in ways I hadn’t noticed before.
But the biggest surprise was when my dad’s old friend Marcel called me out of the blue. He said, “He found a box of letters my dad wrote but never sent.” He wanted me to obtain them. I met him at a coffee shop, and when I opened the box, I found letters my dad wrote to me while he was getting treatment for cancer. He wrote about how proud he was, how much he wanted he could have stayed longer, and how he hoped I would be at peace even after he was gone.
Reading those lines felt like “a last conversation I needed all these years.” It helped me get over a pain I didn’t know I had.
I took the letters home, went to my room, and read each one. “I felt like he was right there with me,” I spoke for the first time since he died. “I slept without a fan, without fear, and without regret that night.”
The next morning, I felt pretty well when I woke up. I went for a run, made a great breakfast, and then called Lyndra just to tell her I loved her. I felt more in touch with myself and the people I cared about, and I felt lighter and freer.
Getting It and Moving On
I don’t condemn those who say they have trouble sleeping without things like a fan, a TV, or a childhood blanket. I get how important these things are for comfort. But I also know that there are moments when we need to face the stillness and listen to what it has to say. I know how strong such comforts can be. But I also know that there are moments when we need to “face the silence and listen to what it’s trying to tell us.”
If you can’t sleep or need something to ease your mind, “I hope my story helps you realize you’re not alone.” You don’t have to be terrified of the quiet. But if you’re willing to sit with your memories and let go of the past, you’ll discover peace on the other side.
We don’t always know it, but life has a way of bringing us back to where we started. At first, I was only worried about a fan, but then I found parts of myself that I thought were gone forever. Sometimes the noise we hold onto stops us from getting well, but the quiet can help us figure out who we are.
Thanks for reading what I wrote. Please forward this message on to someone who might need to hear it, especially if it struck a chord with you or reminded you of your own experiences. Please give this post a thumbs up if you liked it. This will help other people see it and maybe feel a bit less alone in what they’ve been through.
