A Terror in the Night
Learning how to deal with someone else's weird sleep thing
Have you ever wished to be roused awake in the middle of the night during your deepest stage of sleep by the sound of someone yelling in fear?
Yeah, neither have I. But unfortunately the person I share a bed with has night terrors — which means that waking up in a panic is just something we both have to deal with on a semi-regular basis.
When Ryan (my fiancé) and I first started dating, he told me that he’d had night terrors as a kid, but outgrew them. How confident he was. And so, so wrong.
One night shortly after we moved in together in 2019, Ryan sat straight up in bed and screamed like someone was attacking him. I remember the rush of pure panic that surged through my body, and I’m pretty sure I screamed too. My mind was so clouded by sleep that I couldn’t even begin to understand what was going on. I just joined the chorus of bewildered screaming.
Then, suddenly, Ryan stopped. I asked if he was okay. He replied something like, “yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
What? He didn’t remember just two seconds ago when he was hollering at an unseen threat in the dark? That’s creepy as hell.
The funny thing that I’ve come to understand about night terrors is that they’re really not that scary for the person experiencing them. 95% of the time when Ryan has a night terror, he doesn’t remember it even happening. If he fully wakes up after yelling into the dark, I’ll ask him something like:
“You had a night terror, do you remember what scared you?”
And he’ll say, “no.”
And then we’ll lay there for a second feeling confused before we drift back off to sleep.
The remaining 5% of the time, Ryan remembers having a bad dream or feeling stressed, but never remembers doing the actual yelling. He’s asleep, and then suddenly he’s awake and I’m asking him questions. Ryan’s own body will gaslight him into thinking nothing even happened.
Something about this is kind of hilarious. I remember one particular episode when Ryan got spooked by the green, blinking light of the fire alarm in the corner of our bedroom. With no warning, he shot up in bed and pointed his finger in the fire alarm’s direction, gasping, “wh-wh-what is THAT?!”
I calmly (and groggily) said, “it’s just the fire alarm, don’t worry!” Mind you, this is the same fire alarm that has always been blinking in the same corner of the room we’ve slept in every day for almost three years. Nothing changed. But for some reason, Ryan’s brain suddenly perceived it as a threat.
I remember asking him the morning after if he recalled having a night terror, and he said “no.” (As I was writing this, I confirmed with Ryan that he has no recollection of ever getting scared of the fire alarm. The only reason he knows about it is because I told him so.)
Over the years, I’ve come to realize I am really the only person who gets the joy — nay, the privilege — of remembering the weird stuff Ryan says and does in his sleep. These days, I’ve witnessed enough night terrors to find them somewhat amusing. I also know not to scream with him. That only makes things worse.
The real challenge of sleeping next to someone with night terrors is learning what to say and do to either stop them once they’ve started or stop them before they start.
These days, when Ryan starts to yell (or make a sounds that sounds more like a startled gasp), I know to say something like “it’s ok, you’re safe.” And I do that almost automatically in my sleep now. Ryan never remembers me saying anything in the morning, but my response in the moment seems to instantly calm him down.
The other element to this is that my insomnia sometimes coincides with Ryan’s night terrors. There are nights where I have to leave our bedroom so I can mull around in the living room and not bother Ryan while he sleeps. But depending on the time of night, I run the risk of spooking him when I come back.
Ryan gets especially startled by noises that he can’t identify in the dark. And because he doesn’t always hear me get up in the middle of the night, the sound of me opening the bedroom door to come back can be quite jarring. Like, who’s there? He thought I was sleeping next to him the whole time.
So I’ve learned that I have to announce my arrival whenever I return from my insomnia-fueled excursion to the living room. I’ve been experimenting with what to say so that I don’t totally scare the shit out of Ryan.
At first, I’d come in and make a small noise like, “buh buh buh.” Just nonsense to let him know there was a person in the room, and that person was me. But there were some nights where Ryan wouldn’t hear me making that noise because he’d be so deep in sleep.
And when Ryan didn’t respond, I’d know I was running the risk of scaring the crap out of him when I crawled back into bed. So after a few mishaps where I caused a night terror for him when I came back into the bedroom, I started announcing myself more deliberately.
These days, I’ll open the bedroom door and immediately say (in a soft voice), “it’s just me, I’m coming back to bed.” And he usually hears it and responds with, “ok.” That seems to work pretty well, and so far I haven’t scared Ryan with my re-entries at weird times of the night (usually sometime between 1 and 4am).
Finding strategies to avoid spooking Ryan feels like a little game. I just have to keep trying stuff to not set off the fear centers in his brain, even though neither of us are really sure why they light up so easily in the first place.
Friends, it’s almost summer solstice (June 20), and we are super close to our spring 2024 fundraising goal! Your support has been tremendous in helping me keep this newsletter going. If you enjoyed this post, consider dropping a donation in my tip jar on Ko-fi!
This newsletter will always be free to read and share, but I rely on the generous donations of readers to build financial security and keep this project going long-term.
Any amount helps get me closer to my goal of $800 ❤️ (Current progress: $624/$800)
Huge shoutout to my 2024 supporters:
Dennis T.
KRW
Grandma Gin Gin
Tara Y.
Murphy Kaye
Maddie B.
Mom
Emma H.
❤️❤️❤️