The Night We Never Seem to End

Most evenings in our house follow the same rhythm. Dinner, a bit of TV, stories, a goodnight kiss, all the motions that should signal the end of the day. But for my daughter, bedtime isn’t an ending. It’s the start of a long, restless stretch of hours that neither of us can seem to tame.

She’s autistic, and sleep has always been slippery for her. While the rest of the world powers down, she powers up. She’ll read under the covers, hum to herself, draw entire dream worlds in her sketchbook, or simply wander the house quietly, too alert to rest, too exhausted to find peace. Some nights, it’s almost whimsical, the way her imagination refuses to switch off. But lately, it’s turned painful.

She’s started to cry because she can’t sleep. She gets frustrated with herself, blaming her 'stupid brain' for her mind’s refusal to settle. I tuck her back in, stroke her hair, whisper that it’s okay. But it’s not okay. Not when I can see the toll it takes on her, the dark circles, the morning fog, the worry creeping into her voice: “Daddy, I just want to sleep?”

Last week, we booked an appointment with our GP. I’d pinned a lot of hope on that appointment, maybe naively. I’d imagined someone who’d listen, who’d see the little girl in front of them; bright, exhausted, trying her best. Instead, we got ten minutes of indifference. A shrug. An insistence that it would only be something a Mental Health Practitioner could assist with. No understanding of autism, no real help, no compassion. We left with nothing but a leaflet and a heavier heart.

I know my daughter’s brain works differently. I love that about her, her creativity, her curiosity, her spark. But right now, I’d trade all the midnight masterpieces for a full night’s sleep, for her sake and mine.

So tonight, we’ll try again. Maybe we’ll read another chapter together, maybe I’ll sit with her until she drifts off or maybe she won’t drift off at all. Either way, I’ll be there, keeping watch, hoping tomorrow brings a little more rest and a little more understanding from a world that so often forgets to care.