Katie’s Story:
As the oldest of five girls, I was planning and organizing even in childhood. When my husband and I got married, we approached every decision with careful intention. We bought our first home and became involved in a Bible-believing church community, forming deep friendships. And when we felt financially ready, we decided it was time for kids.
Though my pregnancy was tough, we had great support and resources to welcome a baby into the world. As I approached my due date, I thought I was prepared. I had read the books and taken the classes.
I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with dark hair and ginormous eyes. Time to take my perfect newborn home and experience sweet baby snuggles and chest naps, I thought. Surely I’d be able to handle life; didn’t newborns sleep constantly?
But instead of an easy baby who slept well, I brought home a tiny girl who struggled to nurse, had a milk protein intolerance, and was easily overstimulated. She woke up countless times throughout the night. The exhaustion was brutal, but I was surviving—until, suddenly, I wasn’t.
After three months, almost nothing had improved. One night, after a near-panic attack, I reached my breaking point. My husband offered to try bottle feeding so I could get some rest. But while he fed her in another room, I lay in bed, unable to fall back asleep. In those terrifying hours, my illusion of control shattered, and my struggle with chronic and debilitating insomnia began.
I had never struggled with sleep before, yet suddenly, I couldn’t sleep at all. Not just one bad night here or there, either—night after night, I lay in bed, completely depleted but unable to rest. My body begged for sleep, but my mind refused. I was averaging only a couple of hours a night, and it was unraveling me. I could barely think, barely see straight—at times, I could barely walk properly. I felt like I was losing my mind.
Since my daughter still woke up every hour or two, I was trapped in an endless cycle of depletion. What if I couldn’t take care of her? What if my body never figured out how to sleep again? I feared that I would end up in a psychiatric ward, separated from my baby, unable to function at all. My world grew smaller as I withdrew from others, unable to function beyond the barest survival. Even friends I had met with weekly for five years eventually stopped calling, texting, or visiting.
I cried and screamed out to God, but I felt like He couldn’t hear me. I tried massages, acupuncture, essential oils, supplements, and prayer. I saw a psychiatrist and tried a host of different medications. I went to a psychologist for cognitive behavior therapy and a sleep specialist for more medication. If God was unwilling to address my problem, I was determined to solve it.
One Sunday I sat through a sermon about how God had created rest to meet our needs. And all I could think was: Then why won’t He let me sleep? What do you do when rest simply won’t come? Did God see me? Did He care?
Eventually, through medication, I found some relief. It didn’t fix everything, but it took the edge off enough to function. But in the years that followed, after the birth of each of my next two babies, my body hit a reset button on insomnia, plunging me back into relentless sleeplessness.
I kept pleading with God for healing. To give me one miraculous night of sleep that ended my suffering. I would gladly tell the world about my miraculous healing and give God all of the glory!
But God didn’t do that. Instead, He kindly and gently revealed to me that I idolized comfort, control, and my own ability to manage life. He showed me I longed for sleep more than I longed for the One who gives true rest.
I had been praying for comfort, but God was calling me to something deeper: dependence on Him. Even when I felt forgotten and alone, God’s word remained true: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). I didn’t always feel Him, but He never left me.
God’s goodness never changed when life was hard. He was faithfully working for my good when my faith was weak. Following Christ doesn’t mean a life of comfort, but it does mean God comforts us. And God comforted me through His people.
My husband selflessly served me when I felt desperate and overwhelmed. He woke up with me in dark moments of panic so I wouldn’t be alone. My mother-in-law often came to my house to entertain my daughter and fold laundry. Friends—and even strangers—from my church body brought nourishing meals. Others watched my children so I could make it to doctor appointments.
Members of my community group reminded me how God had been faithful throughout my life. And God refreshed me with new friends who came over every Friday morning to eat, talk and pray together. In all these acts of service, God sustained me through those exhausting days, comforting me through His people.
After nine years of pleading, questioning and waiting, I was finally able to sleep without a crutch. Every day, God stayed beside me. In those years, I finally came to a place where I could say, “Even if God never heals me, He is still good.” By His grace, He did slowly restore my body’s ability to sleep, but the deeper healing was happening in my heart all along.
Photo by Ihor Malytskyi on Unsplash
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