I was addicted to my fan. Not in a casual way—in a “I will actually lose my mind if I can’t hear it tonight” way. For years, that soft whirring was the only thing standing between me and a sleepless night.
Then I read an article that said sleeping with a fan could cause health issues. Dry throat. Allergies. Even asthma.
I laughed at first. Please. My fan was my lifeline. But then I tried sleeping without it.
The silence was oppressive. My brain, suddenly starved of its usual white noise, went into overdrive. Did I pay the electric bill? Why did my sister’s fiancé keep checking his phone at dinner? Was my manager mad at me?
By 3 AM, I caved and turned the fan back on.
But the seed was planted. Was I using the fan to avoid something?
My friend Saira’s sleep therapist had a theory: sometimes, we attach to sleep aids—fans, TVs, weighted blankets—to avoid facing what’s really keeping us up.
That hit me like a ton of bricks.
I recorded myself sleeping. No coughing, no wheezing—just me, mumbling, “I’m sorry” over and over.
It wasn’t about the fan. It was about my dad.
He died suddenly, and I never really processed it. The fan was my way of filling the silence he left behind.
So I turned it off. For good.
The first week was brutal. But then something shifted. I started journaling. I called my sister and we talked about Dad for the first time in years. I even reconnected with an old friend of his, who gave me letters my dad had written me before he died.
Now, I sleep in silence. And for the first time in a long time, I feel at peace.
If you’re clinging to a sleep crutch, ask yourself: what are you really avoiding? The answer might change everything.
