Sleeplessness is no longer just a personal nuisance—it’s a national emergency. According to The Atlantic’s Jennifer Senior, whose deeply personal and thoroughly reported June 2025 feature explores the modern plague of insomnia, “those who can’t sleep suffer a great deal more than those gifted with sleep will ever know.” The crisis is not merely about fatigue. Insomnia has profound consequences for physical health, emotional well-being, and spiritual peace, and it disproportionately affects the poor, the sick, and the vulnerable.
The problem, as Senior observes, lies not only in our sleeplessness, but in how we think and talk about it. The dominant cultural narrative tends to be “hectoring—or so smug,” pushing an eight-hour ideal and blaming individuals for their inability to reach it. But not everyone can control their “sleep opportunity,” especially those working night shifts, caring for children, or struggling with trauma, illness, or poverty. As Aric Prather of UC San Francisco put it, “Sleep opportunity is not evenly distributed across the population,” and that disparity worsens already existing health and social inequalities.
The spiritual cost is real, too. As Catholics, we understand that rest is not merely a health strategy but a divine gift—rooted in Genesis and modeled by Christ, who, even amid storms, slept in the boat. But what happens when the gift of sleep feels withheld?
Senior’s article shares a firsthand account of the torment of chronic insomnia: “The insomniac feels at once responsible and helpless when it comes to their misery.” This spiral of shame and blame often discourages those suffering from seeking treatment, especially when sleep medications are stigmatized or misunderstood. Yet the author argues for a more compassionate approach. Quoting psychiatrist John Winkelman, she reminds readers that using medication when the benefits outweigh the side effects “is not addiction. I call that treatment.”
For Catholics, this opens a door to mercy in an often judgmental culture. If we value life and dignity—body and soul—we must look beyond simplistic narratives and encourage thoughtful, compassionate care for those afflicted by sleeplessness. We can challenge stigmas while also promoting effective, evidence-based approaches like cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia (CBT-I), which addresses the anxiety and behaviors that fuel sleeplessness.
But CBT-I isn’t easy. It demands discipline and perseverance and requires skilled practitioners, many of whom are in short supply. Medication, while not a cure, can be a lifeline. “The overwhelming majority [of long-term users],” Senior reports, “are taking their prescription drugs for relief, not kicks.”
There’s even wisdom in reconsidering what “normal” sleep looks like. Citing researcher Thomas Wehr, Senior reflects on older patterns of segmented sleep—two periods broken by a wakeful interlude—as perhaps more natural than our modern expectation of eight uninterrupted hours. “Perhaps broken sleep doesn’t mean our sleep is broken,” she suggests.
As Catholics, we might recognize in this older rhythm something contemplative. Wehr describes those night awakenings as opportunities to reflect, pray, or process dreams. “They were kind of in an altered state… and they would contemplate their dreams,” he says.
Ultimately, Senior’s piece invites not just greater medical or psychological understanding, but a deeper cultural and moral shift. As she writes, “There are ways to improve it. Through policy, by refraining from judgment—of others, but also of ourselves.” For Catholics, that’s a call to live out the Gospel in a sleepless world: to care for the tired, the anxious, the overworked; to restore dignity to those who suffer quietly through the night; and to remember that our rest, like our hope, lies not in control, but in grace.
