“I am now a person who sleeps. And that person is profoundly happier”

When sleep goes, joy goes. Forget, for a moment, the brain fog, the clumsiness induced micro-injuries, the dodgy eating patterns and the god-awful weariness that goes with compromised sleep. The main takeaway from years of insomnia was, for me… despair, really.

I thought I’d tried everything. I even flew to a sleep clinic in Portugal where they wired me up overnight, told me that I’d been in deep sleep for a total of one hour and 57 minutes and advised me that I was heading for an early grave — without helping me swerve it. I was super-resigned and super-blue.

Reluctantly, I booked a sleep consultation at The Bronte Clinic, a new, female-focused centre of excellence near Sloane Square. Dr Dani Russell (compassionate, calm, wise) listened carefully and prescribed sleep training. As though I were a baby. Totally low-fi. No cost. Slightly trying, she warned, but works for almost everyone. It went like this: I had to go to bed incrementally 20 minutes later week on week until I slept through to 6am. No naps even at weekends. No pills. Hideous. I pushed myself, miserably, to a 12.30 bedtime (that’s a lot of bad telly) and then it shifted. I stuck at 12.30 for two weeks and then started to pull my bedtime back. The woman’s a genius. I no longer collapse at 10 and wake — as though my life is on fire — at 3am. I am now a person who sleeps. And that person is profoundly happier.