I stopped sleeping sufficiently at one month old.

Naps were unimaginable in my household. Contrasting to the healthy 14-17 hours of sleep a newborn is supposed to receive, I slept for only eight a night, rarely exceeding those hours.

This pattern never ceased.

As an infant, my milk intake remained the same as it was when I was a month old, never increasing until I was 9 months old. During those eight months, arguably the most stressful period of my parents’ life, they persisted in finding a doctor. Eventually, they stumbled upon one at Texas Children’s Hospital who declared me to be tongue-tied.

It turned out that I never slept because I was hungry. I couldn’t drink enough milk, my only source of food at the time.

The doctor took immediate action and scheduled a frenotomy at 6 a.m. the next morning. At nine months old, I became the youngest patient having surgery in the hospital that day.

Once I recovered from the surgery, I started eating again. My sleeping issues soon became a thing of the past, and everything finally seemed perfect. That is, until I turned three, when I developed horrific night terrors. Everyone would wake up to my screams and cries in the middle of the night as I would run around the house possessed by an unknown fear.

During these episodes, I was never fully awake or asleep. This weird state of mind came with the feeling that something “big” never stopped rising and overwhelming me. There would be a large mass of something I didn’t know expanding out of control. I’d often be half-aware of sprinting down the stairs, fearfully possessed by these terrors and unable to stop myself.

Once I was done screaming, my mom would walk me back to my bed where I’d fall asleep as if nothing had happened. When I woke up at 5 a.m., I would always remember the event from the night before, but I would always try to shrug it off because I didn’t want to remember what happened.

Throughout this time, my mom continued contacting doctors and asking for solutions from elders in my church, relentlessly praying. Even though my pediatrician told her night terrors were common for children my age, seen in 40% of children from ages 4-12, my mom trusted herself and desperately tried to end these horrific events.

So when I entered first grade, I went through a series of sleep studies where I’d spend the night in the Texas Children’s Hospital hooked up to many wires and beeping monitors.

I got diagnosed with severe sleep apnea after five sleep studies and was scheduled for tonsil removing surgery. For weeks leading up to the surgery, I had to force myself to wear a mask hooked up to a machine when I’d wake up at 5 in the morning to get me to fall back asleep. The mask felt like an intruder in my most private space, turning my peaceful bedroom into the clinical setting that I now hated. Even in my own home, it served as a constant reminder that I was someone different.

Thankfully, the mask was soon removed after the surgery and I began sleeping throughout the night.

However, I never stopped waking up at 5 a.m.. I never had enough energy to participate in intense activities or hangouts with my friends. I never went to sleepovers, rarely attended birthday parties and didn’t do any sports.

As a child, my heroes were the Wild Kratts, and seeing my favorite cartoon characters live their imaginary lives to the fullest made me want to do the same. Like them, I wanted to climb and swim and be as athletic as possible.

So in third grade I attended a swim class and entered the pool with high hopes. The lesson passed by quickly and made me excited for future ones. After practice, the coach described me as someone with “natural talent and skill,” and I left the pool knowing he wanted me back.

However, that swim lesson had been difficult and intense, pushing me to the limit in just two hours. I fell sick and never slept enough to recover, remaining sick for two months.

I grew more and more bitter at realizing I could never do the physical activity I wanted. I got used to saying “no” to the many hangouts I got invited to, but every “no” made me more resentful of myself. At the moment I would accept the fact that I couldn’t participate in the activity at the time, but later I would be filled with envy of everyone who did.

My jealousy grew as everyone I knew enjoyed their weekends while I was stuck at home, not being able to stay up because I knew I’d wake up at 5 a.m. no matter how late I slept. This went on for a few years until COVID-19 arrived.

My mindset began to slowly change as I stayed cooped up at home due to quarantine. I woke up at 5 a.m. more often – a problem I would later discover was due to severe vitamin-D deficiency. However, whether it was because I wasn’t exposed to the life I once envied due to quarantine or because my thoughts were focused on the worries of the pandemic, I slowly forgot about my self-dislike and stopped taking for granted the smallest things. Bit by bit, I stopped focusing on what I couldn’t do and more on what I could do. I learned to shrug my sleeping issues away and took COVID as a new start.

When I went back to school in seventh grade, things finally took a turn. I stayed out in the sun more often until my vitamin-D levels, though still shaky, increased slightly. I socialized with my new group of friends and could say the long wanted “yes” to hangout invites. In eighth grade, I continued to get stronger and joined art and debate, making many friends.

More importantly, this marked the year of when I found my love for running.

It started with trying a bit harder on the mile test in PE, racing friends for fun, and then running a mile willingly everyday. I would often time my mile runs as I ran in my neighborhood and sprinted to destress from school. When I saw improvement, I thought about running competitively and dreamed of being a varsity runner in high school.

My new hobby drastically increased my health and vitamin-D levels. I kept running until I felt confident to join the cross country and track team in my freshman year.

It was by far one of the best decisions I’ve made since highschool started. I made friends on my first day of practice and got closer to them over time. I experienced my first morning practice in the summer, my first meet, my first team dinner and my first Secret Santa gift exchange over a fire and marshmallows.

The constant running in the sun helped me grow physically stronger and gave me the energy I hadn’t felt before. I soon became a member of both the varsity cross country and track team in my freshman year, living my dream.

At last I had found a way to finally live out my passion for athletics. At last I could feel the benefit of exercising and pushing myself to a healthy limit. At last I stopped saying “no” to hangouts and instead spent time with my friends at practice throughout the week.

Ironically, I never stopped getting up early. As a long distance runner, practice for both cross country and track means waking up at 5 a.m. multiple days of the week. I am still often tired and doze off frequently in school.

But when I wake up early now, the feeling is different. Early mornings don’t bring hate or envy of others. They are no longer a part of myself that I once viewed negatively. Instead, they represent a full circle moment.

I don’t have to wake up involuntarily. I don’t have to run around in fear in the middle of the night. Instead, I can run on the track in peace and joy. I wake up knowing that I chose to wake up because sleep is no longer holding me back from what I love.

Waking up early gives me the energy I needed for many years. And I won’t stop anytime soon.