For the past four years, I’ve been almost entirely working a night shift schedule, and on the surface, you’d think I’d be all for it: more money, less management and administrative presence, slower pace (usually), closer relationships with my coworkers, etc. It’s pretty great, if you don’t count for one simple thing.
My body has never adjusted to it, no matter how much I try. I’ve got the whole night shift apartment setup – blackout curtains, earplugs, white noise machine, eye mask – and my friends and family know not to bother me during the day. I plan workouts and time awake during daylight hours (on days I’m not working obviously), and I try to schedule myself stretches of shifts so I can cluster my time on nights effectively. I’ve joined night shift groups on social media and tried so many tricks and tips that have supposedly worked for others. But absolutely none of it has worked, at least long term.
Now I will say this: it was easier to handle when I was living in Tennessee, but for the sole reason that my mental health was better supported (my friends and family, not the state because Tennessee politicians couldn’t give a shit about their constituents’ mental health – vote Jerri Green and fuck Marsha Blackburn!). Here in Michigan, I don’t have any direct support like that; I can call my sister or my friends, but it’s not the same as getting together with them and venting in person, you know?
And that leaves me in this nebulous space where I can barely remember to brush my teeth or take a shower – basic hygiene. I’m constantly exhausted, too; I’ll wake up feeling refreshed but in a few short hours, an overwhelming fatigue takes over and I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to watch even the most engrossing of movies. But then, I’ll wake up midmorning and be unable to fall back asleep, which leaves me groggy when I head into work.
I hate it.
I’m not sure when this is all going to change, though, which makes it all the worse. If I can see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, I can do anything. I survived nursing school, after all. But there’s a sense of … hopelessness that drags me further into this hole. Not even my menagerie of animals that keep my attention occupied most of the time can distract me from this underlying melancholy. God, I sound like a Victorian letter. But it’s true.
I’m not even sure why I’m putting this out to be read by the public. Maybe it’ll make someone feel better knowing that another person out there is struggling like they are. Maybe I just need for it to be in a space that is accessible by people other than just me. I don’t know.
At some point, I’ve got to make a change. I just am unsure of how I’ll do that. In the meantime, just send out happy vibes if you’ve got any to spare. I sure could use them.
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