Aliyawanders

I don’t wake up tired.

I wake up disoriented.

My eyes open, my alarm stops screaming, but my brain still buffering. Still loading.

“Where and why are we here?”

And this happens almost every day.

This is what I’ve come to understand as sleep inertia — that strange in-between state where the body is awake, but the mind hasn’t fully crossed over yet.

For me, it’s not just about my mornings.

Sleep itself doesn’t come easily for me.

I get lucid dreams, the kind that feel vivid, detailed, and uncomfortably real. Sometimes, I’m aware that I’m dreaming — but not enough to control it. And when dreams feel too real, sleep stops feeling like rest.

Some nights, I’m honestly afraid to fall asleep.

Some mornings are even stranger.

There are times when I’m convinced I’ve already woken up — that I’ve freshened up, started my day, mentally made plans, even prepared myself for what’s coming. Everything feels real, seamless, complete.

And then I realise…

I’m still in bed.

I wasn’t awake at all.

It takes what feels like forever to truly surface — to open my eyes for real, to recognise the room, to understand that the day hasn’t started yet and I’m not ready, not dressed, not prepared the way I thought I was. That delayed awareness is terrifying in a quiet way, like being stuck between two realities.

I’ve tried sleeping pills. They do make me sleep longer — but not better. My dreams become heavier, scarier, more exhausting. I wake up feeling like I’ve lived an entire other life overnight. Instead of feeling rested, I feel more foggy, more jumbled, and strangely even sleepier throughout the day.

So most nights, I choose not to take them.

But skipping them isn’t easy either.

On those nights — which are most nights — I lie in bed for hours. No phone. Lights off. Just me, the dark, and a mind that refuses to slow down. I toss and turn, fully aware of how late it’s getting, fully aware of how tired tomorrow will be, and completely unable to sleep anyway.

By the time morning arrives, my body may have slept — but my brain feels like it never fully did. That’s when sleep inertia hits hardest. I can function, but slowly. I can respond, but not think clearly. Decision-making feels overwhelming. Even simple tasks take effort.

And with that comes guilt.

Because from the outside, it looks like laziness.

Like a lack of discipline.

Like I just need to “try harder.”

But sleep inertia isn’t my character flaw. It’s neurological. The brain is transitioning from deep sleep into wakefulness, and for some of us — especially those with disrupted sleep, vivid dreaming, or constant mental load — that transition takes longer.

Though I wish there is a solution for me, I’ve stopped forcing myself to fight it. I’m trying to learn how to manage it.

I will try to give myself soft landings instead of harsh wake-ups.

Silence before screens

Light instead of loud alarms

Warm drinks before conversations

No big decisions in the first hour

It’s not because I’m weak — but because I’m learning to listen. And this is something new for me.

Sleep inertia has taught me this:

Rest isn’t just about how long you sleep.

It’s about how safe your mind feels when it finally lets go.

And maybe productivity doesn’t begin the moment our eyes open.

Maybe it begins when our nervous system quietly says,

“Okay… you’re awake now.”

And praying that one day, things will get better.