Battling Late-Night Habits: Why I Still Can't Sleep Early (Yet)

B

• 6 min read

Most nights in my house follow the same rhythm.

By 8:30 PM, my wife is asleep.
The kids are down, the house is finally quiet.
And that's when it starts.

I'm the only one awake.
And no matter how many times I tell myself I should go to bed early, I don’t even feel tired until midnight — sometimes later.

That's when the cycle kicks in:

  • YouTube rabbit holes
  • Social media scrolls
  • Deep-diving into random articles — building up my internal encyclopedia of facts
  • Trying to learn new skills — not because I'll abandon them, but because I tend to dive into too much at once and struggle to follow through
  • Playing guitar or piano
  • Firing up a video game
  • Playing with the dog or the cats
  • Picking up toys, wiping down counters, throwing in laundry
  • Just soaking up the rare feeling of me time

It’s not that I don’t want to sleep.
It’s that this is the only time all day that feels like it's mine — and letting go of that freedom feels impossible in the moment.

I lose track of time without even realizing it.
One minute I’m watching a video or practicing a song — the next, it’s 2:00 AM.

And at 5:30 or 6:00 AM, when the alarm goes off for work, I’m a zombie.

I’m supposed to help get the kids ready for the day.
Supposed to show up with energy for my family.
Instead, I’m dragging myself out of bed, running on fumes, and wondering why I did it again.

Why It's So Hard to Break

I take care of people for a living.
That's literally my job — making sure other people are safe, cared for, supported.

And when I come home, it doesn’t stop.
I'm helping with morning routines.
I'm taking care of my kids, my wife, our high-energy dog, the cats.
I love them. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

But after a day where every ounce of my energy went to someone else, that stolen "me time" at night feels sacred.

It's the only time when no one needs anything from me.
No alarms. No schedules. No responsibilities.

Just... silence.

And that's what makes it so hard to cut short.
Even when I know I’m robbing myself of tomorrow’s energy.
Even when I know I’m hurting myself a little more every night I stay up too late.

Those hours late at night feel like the only time that truly belongs to me — even when they stretch way longer than they should, and the cost shows up brutally the next morning.

When I put the screens down and step away, it doesn’t always get easier.
That’s when my brain starts hunting for tasks:

  • Picking up toys
  • Straightening the furniture
  • Rearranging things that can absolutely wait until morning
  • Playing with the dog and the cats
  • Throwing in a load of laundry
  • Wiping down counters
  • Resetting parts of the house

It’s like my brain refuses to accept that the day is over — because there’s always "just one more thing" to fix or finish before I can give myself permission to sleep.

At night, when the world is finally quiet, my mind gets louder.

No distractions.
No background noise.
Just open space for every restless, unfinished, anxious thought to sprint around unchecked.

The ADHD Brain and the Battle to Shut Down

Part of it is the way my brain works.
I was diagnosed with ADHD last year — and when you live with an ADHD brain, shutting off isn’t just hard, it feels almost unnatural.

I can do everything "right" all evening:

  • No sugar after 7 PM
  • No coffee past 3 PM
  • I try to wind down with tea instead of energy drinks
  • Right now, I wear my contacts with blue light glasses over them at night — but I'm planning to get prescription glasses with built-in blue light filtering to make it easier to transition and wind down.

I know the science.
I know the blue light from screens wrecks melatonin production.
I know night mode would help — but honestly? I hate it.
The night mode color schemes across my iPad, phone, PC, and MacBook Pro all feel depressing, washed out, and uncomfortable. I can't stand using them.

And even when I'm trying to be good — just reading a book on my iPad — it's still a device glowing inches from my face.
Still tapping into the same circuits in my brain that don't want to power down.

The Emotional Loop: Guilt, Exhaustion, and Fighting Through It

Every night when I stay up too late, a part of me already knows how tomorrow will feel.

I know I’ll be exhausted.
I know I’ll be short-tempered.
I know I’ll feel guilty — for dragging through the morning routine, for being less patient with my kids, for starting another day half-empty.

But even then, I’m not giving up.
I’m not staying up later out of anger or hopelessness.
I’m staying up because that quiet, empty time feels earned — the only real breathing room in days packed with responsibilities and noise.

And somehow, chasing a few hours of freedom still feels worth it in the moment, even when I know the price I’ll pay for it in the morning.

And the truth is, four to five hours of sleep a night isn’t just unsustainable — it’s dangerous.
It wrecks recovery, wrecks focus, and makes losing weight or rebuilding my health almost impossible.
It’s a slow, steady drain that touches everything I'm trying to fix.

Small Experiments I'm Trying

I'm not going to pretend I’ve figured this out.
I haven't.
But I know that just hoping it’ll get better without changing anything isn't a real plan.

So I've started experimenting — small moves, not massive overhauls — to try and tip the odds back in my favor.

  • Setting alarms to build real structure:
    Around 9:30 or 10:00 PM, I set an “end of day” alarm — a tap on the shoulder that it’s time to slow down.
    And now I'm adding a second alarm between 11:30 PM and midnight — a go to bed alarm — because just thinking about winding down isn’t enough. Sometimes I need a hard stop.

  • Switching from screens to calmer activities:
    When I catch myself slipping into endless scrolling, I pivot — stepping outside, practicing a few songs on the guitar or piano, or stretching out the tension instead.

  • Reading physical books (with limits):
    I love books. They’re not less stimulating for me — if anything, they pull me in just as deep.
    So when I read at night, I set a timer or cap myself at one chapter to avoid getting pulled into runaway time that leaves me even more exhausted the next morning.

  • Upgrading my glasses:
    My next prescription glasses will also have blue light blocking built in — making it easier to protect my brain without juggling different pairs late at night.

  • Adding short workouts to the evening:
    As I heal from surgery and recover from shingles, I’m aiming to rebuild my stamina with short sessions — a quick row, a Peloton ride, even some bodyweight work.
    Moving my body intentionally at night (instead of just cleaning or scrolling) might help burn off the restlessness that's been keeping me wired into the early morning hours.

  • Introducing a yoga wind-down routine:
    I'm going to start trying a simple yoga flow around 11:30 PM — just enough stretching and breathing to tell my brain, "Hey, the day is done. It's safe to slow down now."
    No pressure to be perfect — just a gentler way to land the plane each night.

  • Forgiving myself faster:
    Not every night will be a win.
    But noticing it, adjusting, and trying again — that’s the long game.

Why I’m Still Fighting

I’m not chasing some perfect morning where I wake up at 5:00 AM, meditate for an hour, run a marathon, and write a novel before breakfast.

I'm chasing something simpler.

I want to show up for my family without feeling like I'm dragging chains behind me.
I want to wake up early enough to walk the dog again before the house is awake — or maybe even sneak in a short Peloton ride or knock out a 1K row on the machine before the kids start their day.
I want to build mornings that aren’t just survival, but feel like progress.

And yeah, I want a little left over for myself, too.
Not the scraps at 2:00 AM.
Real time. Real energy.

Breaking late-night habits isn’t just about discipline.
It’s about reclaiming the life I keep trying to steal back a few exhausted minutes at a time.

Some nights, I’ll still lose.
I know that.
But if I keep building walls between myself and the habits that hurt me — even thin ones, even shaky ones — eventually the gaps will start to close.

This isn’t about flipping a switch.
It’s about laying one brick at a time until a different future starts to take shape.

"The reset doesn’t happen in a perfect morning. It happens in the decision to try again, even after another bad night."

Side Note:
While writing and editing this post, I had this playlist running in the background — just a chill lo-fi mix that kept the energy steady without pulling focus.