After the arrival of my son, I found myself perpetually drained. The aftermath of three days of labor and two exhausting hours of pushing, coupled with sleepless nights nursing a baby who struggled to latch, meant that whenever I laid down, I was out like a light.
However, around the six-week mark, things began to shift. I was feeling more like myself again, and my son started sleeping for longer periods at night. This would have been wonderful, except I couldn’t join him in slumber. After waking once or twice to tend to him, I would lie there, wide awake, wishing I could sleep as peacefully as my husband and child.
I attempted various remedies—reading in low light, increasing my exercise, soaking up fresh air and sunlight. Yet, none of it worked. Eventually, our baby outgrew his bassinet and transitioned to a crib in his own room. By five months, he was sleeping through the night—a full 12 hours. Meanwhile, my own sleep issues escalated, triggered by my husband shifting in bed, noises outside, and a whirlwind of anxieties about motherhood and family dynamics.
It took nearly a year for me to recognize that I was grappling with postpartum depression. During that time, my sleep deteriorated further. We moved into a new house, unpacked boxes, and my days revolved around the baby and organizing our new space. I started to dread bedtime. Would tonight be another sleepless struggle?
It became a cycle of blame—my husband felt guilty for potentially waking me, and I, in turn, was frustrated with him. Our marriage was under strain while our son slept soundly nearby. I sought therapy, worked on my sleep habits, and tried various sleeping pills, but nothing seemed effective. I even dabbled in meditation and yoga—activities I once dismissed.
Then one particularly rough night, overwhelmed by my insomnia, my husband tried sleeping in the guest room we had just set up. That marked the first time we slept apart in our marriage. Surprisingly, I didn’t have to deal with being disturbed by his movements or my own restless bathroom trips. Although it wasn’t a perfect night, it was a relief to have one less source of anxiety.
The next evening, he asked if he should sleep in the guest room again. Guilt washed over me—was I pushing him away? Was this a sign of impending doom for our relationship? But I was exhausted and desperate for some peace.
He continued to choose the guest room night after night, and it eventually became “his” space. He reported sleeping better without the worry of waking me, and he found it was good for his back. When our son was sick, he was closer to his room to help him during those sleepless nights.
In my own room, I began to find rest again—not only because my husband wasn’t there, but because I was actively working on my mental health and sleep routines. As we both started to sleep more soundly, our connection deepened. We began to enjoy each other’s company again, sharing laughter, engaging in meaningful conversations, and even going on dates. Intimacy returned, but we still didn’t share a bed—except for those brief moments after being together.
Now, two years later, we continue to sleep in separate rooms. As I prepare for our second child, the arrangement allows me to go to bed early without worrying about when my husband will arrive. I can spread out with pillows, and he can study late for his MBA without concern about disturbing me. We can take turns letting each other sleep in on the weekends, and that extra rest is a precious commodity for every tired parent.
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In summary, sleeping apart has unexpectedly revitalized our marriage. By prioritizing rest and mental well-being, we’ve rekindled our connection, leading to a happier, more harmonious partnership.