Ever since having kids, sleep’s been harder for me. Trouble falling asleep, trouble staying asleep—and it’s only gotten worse with age (like everything else).
I spend a lot of time talking with clients about their sleep: their dissatisfaction with it, their fears about not being able to do it, their fears about what will happen because they don’t get enough, their growing panic when they have one or two bad nights, and their worries about whether they’re damaging their health.
It’s a big topic that if you can relate, you’re probably saying you have insomnia. But what if I were to tell you that maybe it’s not insomnia but sleep anxiety? It’s a distinction worth understanding.
Sleep Anxiety Is Not the Same as Insomnia
Most people who tell me, “I have insomnia,” actually mean, “I’ve had a few rough nights, and now I’m terrified I’ll never sleep again.”
Two or even five nights of poor sleep does not equal insomnia. It equals an activated nervous system—which is normal and reversible. But the more we fear sleeplessness, the more activated our threat detection system becomes, and the more awake we feel.
Here’s the helpful distinction: Insomnia is a sleep problem. Sleep anxiety is a worry problem that creates a sleep problem.
There’s the actual diagnosis of insomnia, which describes a sleep problem with specific criteria—trouble sleeping at least three nights a week for at least three months, with daytime impairment, despite having enough opportunity to sleep. And then there’s anxiety about falling or staying asleep, which is what most of my clients are dealing with.
Before I go any further, I want to be transparent. I’m not a sleep therapist, and I’m not trained in CBT-I (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for Insomnia), which is the gold-standard treatment for insomnia. This isn’t a post about treating insomnia.
This is about sleep anxiety, which is extremely common, often mistaken for insomnia, and very responsive to a different approach.
Why Do My Thoughts Get Worse at Night?
If you’ve ever wondered why you worry so much at night, or why you wake up worried with your brain already spinning, you’re not alone. The 2 a.m. brain is a special kind of cruel. It takes a minor concern and turns it into a catastrophe, replaying conversations from 2007. It decides that now is the perfect time to solve every problem you have.
What’s happening is that when we’re stressed, worried, or upset, the brain activates the threat detection system, which then looks to you to tell it if you’re in danger or not. If you react by engaging with the thought—analyzing it, rationalizing it, trying to fix it—that reinforces the activation.
Your brain goes, “Oh, this must be important! Let me give you more of these thoughts!”
And suddenly you’re wide awake, heart racing, wondering if you’ll ever sleep again.
If you acknowledge the swoosh of anxiety but treat it as a false alarm (which it is) that system can shut down. The alarm only stays on if you keep responding to it like there’s an actual emergency.
The Problem with Trying to Fall Asleep
Here’s the paradox that keeps people up. Our bodies already know how to sleep. Sleep is a biological process, not a cognitive one, meaning you cannot think yourself to sleep. You cannot effort your way into it, and trying equals effort. Effort equals arousal. Arousal equals wakefulness.
Paying attention to our thoughts and feelings at 2 a.m. makes things worse because where we place our attention grows. When we wrestle with our thoughts—”Stop thinking about this!”—we’re actually getting more awake.
If I tell you not to think of a white bear, what happens? You think of one. If you try really hard putting more effort into not thinking of one… you still do.
Your body can sleep. Your effort is what’s getting in the way.
How to Calm Anxiety at Night Using Just Do Nothing
In my book, Just Do Nothing, I teach a paradoxical approach. You want to stop doing the very thing that’s making things worse, which is trying to control your internal experience. This applies beautifully to sleep, because when we learn to do nothing with the mishegoss (that’s Yiddish for craziness) in our heads, the threat detection system turns off and you eventually sleep.
You roll over. Your brain starts in on, “Oh no, it’s starting. I’m not going to be able to fall asleep. I can feel myself getting worked up. My heart is starting to race. What if I don’t sleep? What if I can’t focus at work tomorrow? What is this doing to my heart? Am I making myself sicker by being so anxious on top of all this not sleeping?”
Instead of rationalizing, reassuring yourself, problem-solving, negotiating with yourself, or trying to relax, do this:
Pause. Stop engaging with the thought spiral.
Assess. Are you really in danger? Probably not. Remind yourself this is sleep anxiety, not danger.
Redirect. If you’ve been awake for about 20 minutes, get out of bed and go to another room if you can. Find something (a book, music, a dull podcast, a body scan) in which to redirect your attention. When your worry tries to bring your attention back, gently tell it “not now” and bring your attention back to what you’re doing.
Remember, your brain is like an untrained puppy, so shorten the leash but don’t yank it harshly.
Return. Go back to bed when you feel genuinely sleepy—heavy eyes, struggling to keep them open. Not when you think you should, but when your body is ready.
This is how you retrain your brain that nighttime is for resting, not thinking. It takes practice so don’t give up!
“But It Feels So Urgent!”
I hear this all the time. Anyone who’s experienced the whoosh or spike of anxiety can relate to that sense of urgency. The feeling is real because it’s paired with so much adrenaline, but that doesn’t mean the situation is real or dangerous.
You don’t need to fix your sleep at 2 a.m. You don’t need to solve your life at 2 a.m. You don’t need to figure out your worries at 2 a.m.
Your job is simply to do less with the noise in your head, so your body can do what it already knows how to do.
What You’re Really Teaching Your Brain
Every time you engage with worry thoughts at night—analyzing them, trying to make them stop, seeking reassurance from your partner, getting up to Google “why do I worry at night”—you’re teaching your brain that nighttime is dangerous. That these thoughts are important. That they deserve your attention.
Every time you acknowledge the worry but choose not to engage with it, you’re teaching your brain that nighttime is safe. That these thoughts can wait. That you can have uncomfortable feelings and not need to do anything about them.
With practice, your brain relearns that nighttime is not the place for thinking. It’s the place for resting. It may take time. It will feel uncomfortable at first. And that’s okay. Because the alternative, lying there fighting with your thoughts, isn’t working either.
