how to not be a morning person

+ still thrive

my ideal self is a morning person

(isnt yours too??)

she rises - naturally- at 6:30 am. not the time of alpha male bio hackers, but equally not the sluggish 9am of an underachiever. very divine feminine.

she feels peaceful, yet energised. her balanced cortisol levels mean that she is encouraged- not jolted- from bed with the simple motivation of a genuine excitement for the day ahead- a beckoning…..curiosity.

she reaches not for her phone but for an elegant matchbox to light a designer candle. vetiver, almond milk. mmm.

no neurotic impulse to sustainable palo santo smudge her surroundings. the vibes are already immaculate. she drinks a big mug of something equally delicious and nourishing- ie not lemon water or bone broth. perhaps a fresh pressed greens juice and a delightful tea. she knows balance.

she moves her body softly and intuitively. she listens to the fuzzy radio and basks in enjoyment. she feels alive.

her breakfast is not measured by the perfect percentage of protein, grams or literally any presence of the numerical. perhaps it is warm and sweet, or astringent, lemony, olive oil drenched, floral-y bright. perhaps it has jammy golden egg yolks or creamy sweet avocados. maybe it’s last night’s cold dinner leftovers. either way it lands well.

skincare is done with soft fingerprint touches. no harsh scrubbing or manic face massaging. no desperation to lift, tone, perfect. no self loathing. she quite likes what she sees in the mirror. quite likes what she senses all around- lovely smells of the bakery downstairs + how it intermingles with her neroli or sugar plum candle, the warm sun rising, the softness of the carpet, the silky smooth dressing robe. she’s ready for the day.

in recent years (seven)

on the death + resurrection, initiation, shadow-y rock bottom roller coaster healing journey that i’ve been either dragged unwillingly or subconsciously forced myself through, i have learned to differentiate between the ideal and the actual self.

for example, perhaps my ideal self has the bandwidth to answer texts promptly. hold emotional space for my loved ones, engage in frequent social interaction, be a star daughter, sister, friend, etc.

but my actual self generally only feels at peace in her own company, doing hours (upon hours) of self-care and skincare, having most of my human interaction with fictional characters or podcast hosts. continually pouring into my own cup and trying to find + patch up the leaks.

my actual self, in terms of circadian inclinations, is nothing like my ideal self.

my actual self is a night owl.

the moments when i feel sheer joy, expansion, giddy little girl-like excitement, elevation, high vibrations, juiciness, the sensation of being alive- are all in the evening time.

the discourse of morning person vs. night owl feels much like the shameful should-iness i felt my entire life at not being a summer person. the sensation of restored hope, peace, and happiness to fill my being as crisp autumn air fills my lungs and visions of pumpkins and snowflakes fill my daydreams is as constant and reliable as night and day. clockwork. before i let go of my phone-minimalist wellness girl persona and became much more chronically online- i thought i was the only one.

but now memes by similarly complex sometimes glum book whore tea sipping types with large sweater collections and a love for hygge + halloween surround me with coziness and understanding. as the black cat in a family of golden retrievers, they remind me that i’m not alone.

but equally, it seems that there is a lot of scorn amongst my sad sisters, aimed at girlies who thrive in the sunshine and eat papayas and like getting out of bed in the morning- taking pictures of their 5:00am iphone alarms, green smoothies, hot girl walks.

id love to close the gap a bit.

isn’t that what all this healing work, drudge and dread and muscling through is all about? to be more like our shiniest, highest selves?

presently, irl, when the weight of breaking patterns, engaging in strict protocols + recovering from chronic illness fill my days, i prefer a bit more softness.

there were days (decades) when i forced myself to be a morning person

i would wake at 6 am, oil pull, attend an advanced iyengar yoga class, drink warm lemon water, pound an everything smoothie (read: pond sludge), avoid all technology, dry brush, aura cleanse, and scamper off to my full time job - having already done what felt like a full time job. a morning routine that was work. i didnt feel much better, aside from the smug satisfaction that i was in fact that girl.

during my recent rot girl summers (2021, 2022, 2023, 2024)

where i found myself feeling defeated, helpless. let down by another drop from so high. thinking i’d healed my body only to have a massive flare- with no real understanding why. where i was forced to quit my job from burnout and couldn’t find another one, and couldn’t afford to heal forever, having spent all my savings on supplements. where i found myself, unbelievably, at a rock bottom again, no faith in protocols or natural healing or mindset. when i found myself there…the pendulum swung way to the other end. discipline became a dirty word.

i’d wake up only to further cocoon + burrow myself in the duvet, hoping that my late bedtime the night before had ensured a late wake up time. less of the day to get through. i’d immediately put a netflix show on- the only motivation i could find to lumber out of bed and do the basics i still stuck to: tongue scraper, swishing coconut oil, shower, lots of room temperature water in a mason jar, something with protein for breakfast. it was the best i could do. it was enough.

now, when my days seem to contain more glimmers: nice, job, cozy living space, access to a nurturing + compassionate naturopath, you- loving substack subs (you really mean a lot to me), the will to live rouses me from bed after less deliberation. but there is no early rising or rigidity here. i stay up late- like 11 to midnight. i bask in the joy of my evenings and after eight hours of rest i wake up.

i spritz my face with rosemary and rosewater mist. i slip into fluffy pink slippers. i cleanse my energetic body. i watch killing eve while making a protein packed tea elixir. i- sometimes- go outside to get some sunshine and earth. i foam roll and do some gentle somatic movement. i often crash again and lay back down- indulge in a mid-morning nap, giving myself the strength for a long barista shift. sometimes i take a yoga class or light all the candles the old me would have saved. sometimes i read a nice book. i try to be gentle.

there’s still shame and shoulding because of course there is.

i got into wellness when my brain was still mush. i had the particular flavor of childhood wounding that lent to a propensity towards believing that i was wrong, bad, and needed fixing. the perfect honey trap for an industry that pushes hustle via vitamin pill popping and the chronic sense of not enough-ness.

one day, my mornings will be filled with pleasure and purpose. softness and strictness. the discipline which encourages freedom. my cortisol levels won’t be f*cked + so i’ll be energetic in the morning and peacefully sleepy in the eves- not sluggish first thing then wired and tired till late.

one day, i’ll be so happy and balanced and kind to myself that i wont have to choose. i’ll be both a morning person and a night owl. that girl and just a girl. perfectly imperfect. i’ll be both a morning glory and a night owl because i’ll love and relish life so very much. all hours of it.

until then- a prescription of softness and unrestricted pleasure is my morning routine. how about yours?

with love,

a wired midnight writer

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