In the interest of coping with some work-related stress, I recently visited an acupuncturist for the first time. Before I became a semi-clad human pincushion, forcing myself to relax on his heated table in a dimly lit room, the good doctor asked me to walk him through some areas of my life to assist in getting at the root of my anxious, spun-out problems. We went over my exercise routine, diet, digestion and (terrible) work-life balance. He took my pulse and a peek at my tongue. But when we got to my sleeping habits, this kindly man had to veil his horror while I detailed a typical bedtime at my house.
"You fall asleep with the television on every night?" he asked.
In an age where devices are everywhere, the mantra of "no screens before bedtime" has become a common refrain. It's a directive printed in "sleep hygiene" pamphlets, a message delivered to me by doctors, therapists and earnest friends on digital detox. No texting in your PJs. No post-sunset reading of the latest hot take. And definitely no television viewing in the day's final hours.
There is, of course, medical science to back up this suggestion. Evening light from screens not only negatively affects our ability to fall asleep, but it suppresses our melatonin levels, something that's been linked to an increased risk of stress, depression and certain kinds of cancers. Getting poor sleep has also been associated with obesity, diabetes and cardiovascular disease, meaning it certainly makes good sense to ban the iPad from the bedroom and pick up a book instead. Screaming headlines suggest that if "sitting is the new smoking," then pre-sleep screens are the new "bludgeoning yourself repeatedly in the face with a bat."
While I would love to be the kind of upright, respectable citizen who turns off all the lights, closes her eyes and gets a healthy eight hours, I've been exclusively drifting off to the dulcet tones of episodic television for as long as I can remember. Part of my acupuncturist's alarm is over the fact that late-night TV is not just my naughty, secret habit; I've actually employed it as a tool for sleep – using it to help me get there when my anxious, looping mind has other insomniac ideas. (Even confessing that makes me feel shame, like I fall into a tribe of stereotypically neglectful sitcom husbands, or general life-failing dirt bags.)
My habitual nighttime viewing could be a throwback from the time when I was living alone. Flipping on the television filled the often disturbing dark and eerie quiet with other people's reassuring voices, chasing away any irrational ideas about serial killers lurking outside my window. I'm also an admittedly (and clinically) anxious person, and anyone who has wrestled with that particular ailment knows that the quiet of a dark room is a breeding ground for unease. Regardless of my reasoning and justification, I've reached a point where a night without an episode or two of a dated crime procedural means I'm left staring helplessly into the dark void, stressing about my 6 a.m. alarm and a long list of worries I can do nothing about. TV has become my soothing chamomile tea, my lavender-scented pillow – it's the only guaranteed way to get me to drift off.
There are, however, rules to employing episodic television as a successful tranquillizer – kind of like a harm-reduction strategy for the already addicted. You can't simply throw on the latest instalment of your favourite high-octane thriller and expect the sandman to come. Sleeping-pill viewing is primarily defined by low mental investment, making worn-in rewatches and meditative, slow-moving shows a best bet. Thankfully the introduction of Netflix means there is always a lullaby at one's disposal, from a journey into Alyssa Milano's early-aughts witchcraft via Charmed, the hypnotic rapid-fire banter of the beloved Gilmore Girls to the now-predictable world-saving of any given season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I mean no disrespect to any these shows – in fact, I exalt them. Repeated viewings have provided me with a good night's rest when nothing else would work.
Prime-time crime shows also appropriately fit the sleepy-time bill, provided that there aren't any dramatic shootouts, and that they fall into a contained, predictable rhythm of justice tidily served (think CSI, Criminal Minds and every incarnation of Law and Order). Comedy shows only work if they're not really funny (Friends), and horror shows only work if they're not really scary (Supernatural). Anything with high drama or absurd cliffhangers is completely off the table, meaning shows such as Breaking Bad, The Fall, The Killing and The Walking Dead have led me astray, far away from restful sleep and into the dangerous territory of predawn binge watching. I've lived and learned, and made an art out of turning TV into the most effective sedative I've known – sleep hygiene be damned.
There is, sadly, a flaw in my near-champion ability to pass out at the 30-minute mark of many an episode – it's put a bit of a strain on my otherwise happy marriage. My husband has his own unique sleep dysfunctions, and throwing on vintage 90210 while turning in doesn't go a long way toward healing them. I may be snoring by the time we get to the order half of Law and Order, but that poor man is always forced to take the last shift of turning off the lights and the TV. While the horrific prospect of a television-viewing-related death might not be enough to make me quit, the wish to give him a restful night of sleep might just do it one day.