Insomnia is something I struggle with sporadically. Busy brain syndrome. The gift of those who are over-achieving, hyper-sensitive, over-thinkers. Me at 3am.
I decided to try a guided meditation app that includes a range of options to help one sleep, including hypnosis. I was wary of hypnosis because I remember that time in college when the comedian hypnotist came to pub night and made people do humiliating things on stage for the audience’s amusement. What if I start barking every time a colleague’s mobile phone gets a notification and nobody knows why?
Desperate for sleep, I figured I’d risk it. My first sleep hypnosis session wasn’t the most effective sleep aid. Allow me to share it with you. For your benefit, read this as if you were a middle-aged British man with a soft voice and slow pronunciation (the brackets are me). Ready?
Imagine you are walking through a forest when you come upon a clearing and see a grand old three-storey home with a big porch. (Who builds a mansion in the woods? Vampires, that’s who. I saw Twilight.)
You walk up the stairs of the porch, open the front door and enter the foyer. Before you, every room has a unique design, lit with soft light. (Shai DeLuca would not be okay with this lack of design consistency. If I find Ikea bookcases in here, I’m out. Also, who pays the hydro bill? Turn off the light if you aren’t in the room, sheesh.)
Classical music is playing throughout the house. (Um, is the classical music soft, like Vivaldi or am I hearing Rachmaninov? Big difference.)
You walk up the wide staircase. On the first floor, you look out the front window to see a lake. (There’s a lake? I wonder what the property value is. Is this Muskoka wealth or like Conestogo Lake wealth?)
You take another flight of steps, one by one, to the second floor, then step by step, higher and higher you reach the third floor. (My physiotherapist wouldn’t appreciate all these stairs without a good stretch. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Besides, who needs a three-storey mansion in the woods? Vampires. Yep.)
Step into the large bedroom and lie down on the comfortable bed. (I beg your pardon? I’m not that kind of girl. Wait, is that chocolate on the pillow? Are these sheets Egyptian cotton?)
You turn off the light. (I just got into bed, now you want me to get up and turn off the light? Are we married? This would be an excellent commercial for The Clapper. Clap on. Clap off. Now I’m giggling. The narrator senses I’m leaving.).
You leave the bedroom and walk down the stairs, counting as you go, step by step. Then you are back outside in the forest, tired and ready to drift off into a peaceful sleep. (This is where the vampires chase me, right? In the wide open? I saw all five Twilight Saga films. I know the deal. Peaceful sleep? Who’s sleeping? I’m exhausted. Is this working? This isn’t working. What if it’s working? Woof. Oops.)
Here’s your takeaway: don’t trust British guys with soft voices and slow pronunciation who direct you to exercise in your sleep and walk you through real estate you clearly cannot afford.
Seriously though, sleep hypnosis does work, eventually.
Less vampires, more zen.
