Benefit of Losing Sleep : Part 2

by Jeremy G. Schneider, MFT

(Page 2 of 2)

At the time I had no idea I had accidentally stumbled onto one of the things that really made a difference for him. Fortunately, I am quick to pick up on something when it is working. Soon I was asking him about his happy thought before he went to sleep every night.

"What's your Happy Thought, Elijah?"

No response.

"It's Tia, isn't it? You have so much fun with Tia, right?"

"Yeah."

Then I was asking him about his happy place (going to Friendly's to have ice cream and get balloons - he really is my boy).

For several more nights before he went to sleep and when he woke up in the middle of the night, I would just ask him about his all of his happy things.

"I'm ascared, Daddy."

"I know. What do you do when you're scared, Elijah?"

"Happy thought!" he would reply immediately.

"Yeah, Elijah! Your happy thought! What else?"

"Happy place!"

"Good Elijah!"

I don't know whether it was the distraction, him actually thinking about these happy thoughts or just our exchange, but it helped to calm him down and when he was calm it was much easier for him to go back to sleep.

Before I knew it, I was asking Elijah about his bag of magic tricks every night before he went to sleep. This bag of magic tricks was the things he could think about whenever he got upset or scared. They included his Happy Thought, his Happy Place, his Happy Song, his Happy Book, his Happy Family, Happy People (he came up with that one on his own) and every other happy thing that had happened in the past day or two or that was going to happen in the next day or so. For the first time in his life, Elijah was developing the tools to feel like he had some control over whether or not he stayed scared or upset. And when I asked him about his bag of magic tricks every night his face would glow. Not only did the contents of his bag of magic tricks make him feel better, but it became, I think, a reminder of our special relationship. Daddy and son together creating our own magic trick, our own Happy Thought, our own special connection.

Within another week of this process Elijah was sleeping through the night more nights than not. And he was going to sleep much quicker and easier every night. I can remember the moment when after having tucked both of my children in and talking about their bags of magic tricks and how much I love them, that I turned off the light, walked out the door and held my breath.

"Daddy?"

But I didn't move. I didn't let out my breathe either. I waited for another word from the other side of the door, but it was quiet. I quietly walked downstairs and found my wife. She turned on the monitor and there was nothing but the comforting hum of the air conditioner. It was over. Our children were sleeping well once again. Even though the process of helping them to sleep well once again was extraordinarily challenging, I'm not sure if Elijah and I would've bonded like this in a different situation.

Tonight, just before he fell asleep, I knelt down by the side of his bed, as I do every night now, and I looked at him. And smiled. Lying down on his back with his head turned so he could see me, he smiled back. He knew what was coming and he couldn't wait.

"What's in your bag of magic tricks tonight, Elijah?"

"Mommy and Daddy," he would reply with a smile.

"What else?"

While he responded I understood that the idea of Happy Thoughts and other Happy things definitely helped, but there was more to it than that. What he and I did, the closeness we've developed, this nightly tradition, was what really made a difference. He was still scared to go to sleep, but finally he also had some very positive associations with it as well. And because of that, so did I.

I walked out of their room thinking about how the bag of magic tricks seemed to arm him against his fears of the darkness, of sleep, of the dreams that seem to haunt him as they have haunted me since I was his age. I went down the stairs as quietly as I could feeling so proud of him and even of myself for the role I had played in helping him sleep well again. But as I went down to the basement to see my wife, I felt a pain in my chest. A pain that was not physical, but emotional. A pain, an ache, like a dark cloud that refused to be burned off by the hot sun. This ache came from the realization that it was my closeness with my son that now allowed him to sleep through the night, that allowed him to not need me anymore in that way. The ache was made worse by the fact that this was only the beginning of nights when I would realize my little boy needs me less and less. But for now, I decided, I was going to bask in the glory of what we did have, of what we created together and of what couldn't be taken from us. Soon it would be time for me to get ready for work tomorrow, to get ready for sleep.

What was in my bag of magic tricks? What was my happy thought?

My special connection with my children.

About the Author

Jeremy G. Schneider, MFT, sees clients and conducts workshops in New York and Long Island. He has been interviewed by NBC's The Today Show, CNN, The Washington Post, and Newsday. Since the birth of his boy/girl twins in December 2002, he has written more than 30 articles on his experiences as a father that have been published in numerous parenting magazines and web sites. He also publishes a monthly column called A Father's Voice and produces the corresponding A Father's Voice Podcast. In between articles, he writes about his daily experiences as a father in Two Okapis, his Digital Daddy Diary (blog). For more information, visit www.jgs.net or to contact him directly, email him at [e-mail].