Week 1:
The first few nights, I was scared to believe it was real.
What if it was a fluke?
But night two: 5.5 hours.
Night three: 6 hours.
Night four: 7 hours.
I still had to wake up to feed Emma. But when I put the mask back on, I'd fall asleep in minutes.
Deep, restorative sleep.
I started noticing small things:
I could remember where I put my keys.
I didn't cry when Emma's onesie snaps wouldn't line up.
I smiled at Mark when he got home from work.
Week 2-3:
Mark noticed before I did.
"You seem... lighter," he said one morning.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Like you're here. With me. Not just going through the motions."
He was right.
I was present during Emma's feedings instead of just enduring them.
I actually laughed when she spit up on me.
When she smiled, I felt joy instead of just exhaustion.
My mom came over and stopped in her tracks.
"What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"You look like yourself again," she said, tearing up.
Month 2:
I took Emma to her 6-month checkup.
Dr. Martinez looked at me and smiled immediately.
"What did you do?"
"Remember when you said I needed to reset my nervous system?"
"You found a way?"
I told her about the Lunelle Dream Mask.
She took notes. "I need to tell my other patients about this."
Emma's next milestone: sleeping through the night.
But here's what shocked me—I slept through the night too.
For the first time in seven months, I woke up naturally at 7 AM.
Emma was still asleep.
I lay there, feeling rested, and cried happy tears.
Month 3+:
The woman in the mirror started looking like me again.
I had the energy to shower. To put on real clothes. To care.
Mark and I went on our first date night since Emma was born.
We talked. We laughed. We remembered why we loved each other.
"I've got my wife back," he said.
I didn't realize I'd been gone.
But I had been. Lost in exhaustion, just surviving.
Now I was living again.