Moonlight Maggie: ADHD and the Elusive Art of Sleep
I’ve never been a good sleeper.
As a toddler, my grandmother called me Moonlight Maggie—because while everyone else slept, I was up and about, quietly living my best nocturnal life.
“Just close your eyes and go to sleep,” Mum and Dad said.
A classic Boomer trope. But how exactly was I meant to just do that? How do you turn off a brain that’s still buzzing with the day’s thoughts, questions, and ideas?
As a teenager, things got worse. I often survived on less than five hours of sleep a night. My mind was full of noise—replaying conversations, analysing the world, planning a new project. I’d listen to heavy, rhythmic music on repeat—Nine Inch Nails’ Downward Spiral was my nightly lullaby. My poor parents!
My husband’s first pet name for me was Possum, because I came alive in the dark. He’d wake up to find me missing from bed, only to discover me reading, crafting, or furiously typing thoughts into a Google Doc. The night has always been my creative hour.
I understand sleep hygiene. I know the science—the increased dementia risk, the weight-gain links, the “driving drunk” level of fatigue. I know it all. But somehow, knowledge doesn’t make sleep any easier.
Meanwhile, my husband can fall asleep in twelve seconds. I’ve counted. His record stands. Ridiculous.
After the wild years of pregnancy, babyhood and toddler chaos, I decided to work seriously on sleep. We built a bedtime routine that feels sacred now: a calming herbal tea (guests laugh—until they try it), soft lamp light instead of overheads, a perfectly cooled bedroom, sleep gummies that actually help. We even have all the lamps connected to one single remote. That tiny luxury brings me disproportionate joy.
But I’ve discovered two things that guarantee to ruin it all.
The first is a quest.
If my husband casually says, “I keep forgetting to do X,” or “What do you think about this idea?”, that’s it—it’s game on. My brain has accepted a mission. Within minutes, he’s asleep beside me, and I’m down a rabbit hole of research or mentally mapping solutions I’ll forget by morning.
So now, we have an agreement: no ideas, no projects, no “what ifs” within cooee of bedtime. It’s survival.
The second is emotion.
If I let myself think about my beloved old dog, or the day my daughter was born, I’m done for. Emotion opens the floodgates, and every memory, every thought, every “what if” comes rushing through. I’ve learned to spot it early and tell myself firmly: Drop it. Like I would a puppy who’s picked up something dangerous.
If I can’t let it go, I get up, write it out, and only then do I try again.
Sleep is such an elusive, complicated thing for ADHD minds. It’s never as simple as closing your eyes.
But I’ve learned that gentleness, structure, and boundaries can help.
That I don’t have to fight my brain—I can work with it.
And that some nights, trust and acceptance are the best lullabies of all.