After the birth of my son, I was perpetually exhausted. Three grueling days of labor followed by two hours of intense pushing and the struggles of night feedings with a baby who wouldn’t latch left me drained. For the first six weeks, any chance to lie down meant I was asleep in no time.
However, around the six-week mark, things began to shift. I was healing from the delivery, and my baby started to sleep longer stretches at night, which should have been a relief. But as he snoozed soundly, I found myself wide awake, staring at the ceiling and longing for the rest my husband and child enjoyed.
I tried everything—reading under a soft light, increasing my exercise, and soaking in the sun—but nothing worked. Eventually, our baby outgrew the bassinet and transitioned to a crib, sleeping a full 12 hours by five months. Meanwhile, I became increasingly restless over trivial disturbances: my husband moving in bed, outside noises, and incessant worries about motherhood.
I was dealing with postpartum depression, a reality we didn’t recognize for almost a year, during which my sleeplessness escalated. After moving into a new house, I filled my days with baby care and unpacking but dreaded the nighttime routine. Would I sleep, or would I struggle through another exhausting day?
Blame shifted between my husband and me. Concerned about waking me, he too began to lose sleep, putting additional strain on our marriage while our child slept peacefully. I sought therapy, attempted to improve my sleep hygiene, and tried various sleeping pills—all to no avail. Meditation, yoga, and even increased exercise became part of my routine, yet sleep remained elusive.
One particularly difficult night, overwhelmed and in tears, my husband decided to sleep in the guest room we had just prepared. It was the first time we had slept apart since getting married. He didn’t wake me when he tossed his covers off, and I didn’t disturb him with my frequent bathroom trips. It wasn’t a flawless night, but at least I couldn’t place blame on anyone else.
The following night, he asked if he should sleep in the guest room again. Guilt washed over me; it felt like I was pushing him away. I feared this was the beginning of our marriage unraveling, reducing us to mere roommates. Yet I was too exhausted to allow my sleeplessness to weigh down our relationship.
He continued to sleep in the guest room for consecutive nights. Eventually, it became his space. He reported better sleep, free from the worry of disturbing me, and mentioned it was more comfortable for his back. When our son fell ill, he was just steps away from his room to help.
Meanwhile, I started sleeping better too—not solely because of our arrangement, but thanks to therapy, yoga, and journaling. Slowly, I was rediscovering what I needed to heal, and having my own space contributed to that process.
As we both found better sleep, we rekindled our connection. Our conversations deepened, laughter returned, and we enjoyed date nights and intimacy—albeit without sharing a bed, except for brief moments afterward.
Now, two years later, we’re still sleeping apart. With our second child on the way, I can turn in early without worrying about when my partner will come to bed. I can use as many pillows as I want without inconveniencing him. He’s busy with his MBA studies and can focus without worrying about disturbing my sleep. We can take turns getting extra rest on weekends, which is invaluable for any parent.
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Summary:
Sleeping in separate rooms has surprisingly revitalized my marriage. It allowed each of us to prioritize our sleep, reduced stress, and helped us reconnect emotionally. Now, as we prepare for our second child, the arrangement continues to benefit our family life.