“He’s manipulating you, and you're letting him.”

 His gut-wrenching screams can penetrate deep into my bones and cause physical pain. 

 

“You know he’s safe in his crib, so it’s perfectly fine to let him cry.”

The look of terror on his face and those tiny hands clenching his crib tell me he doesn’t feel safe.  His nervous system is on high alert.

 

“If he’s wearing a fresh diaper and has recently eaten, his crying means he wants you.  It’s hard to hear, but don't give in!”

What about his feelings?  His needs are not only physical.

 

I almost got pressured into believing I need to “sleep train” my son.  The days were long and dark when I was teetering on that edge.  Unwilling to commit to letting him cry all alone, but unable to trust my instinct that supporting him calmly into a sleep state was probably better for his mental health, and mine.

 

I once sat and listened to his cries while every cell in my body was telling me to rush in and comfort him.  It was the longest three minutes of my life.  I didn't want my family to see how quickly I responded when he cried in his bed.  I thought they would see my response as the cause of his difficulty sleeping alone.  Some say we are creating bad habits when we offer our babies the milk from our breasts and the safety of our bodies during sleep time.

 

I wanted them to think I was stronger than that.

 

But you know what makes me feel strong? Staying calm when my baby’s wails are threatening to burst my eardrum.  Responding lovingly every single time he wakes up in the middle of the night without knowing how many more months or years he will need my support.  Finding my own informed path when it feels like the rest of the world is waiting for me to walk down theirs.

 

The farther I tread down my path of motherhood, the louder and clearer my intuition becomes.  My body knows what is right, and I let its wisdom guide me.

 

Sleep training triggers me.  I have trauma around using my voice and not being listened to.  Sleep training isn't trauma-informed or mental-health-informed, but I am.  I spent years healing my nervous system, training it to return to a state of calm.  I know that the body doesn't automatically shift from fight-or-flight to a state of rest.

 

But at first, I didn't even know I was on the path of “sleep training,” because it’s just so normal.

 

I had heard that babies sleep best on a schedule, so I tried that first.  I followed the schedule for three long days. No breakthroughs, just a breakdown.  Mine.  My son refused to eat-play-sleep as the schedule told me he should.  If he wasn’t nursing to sleep, he would just cry and cry.  I was a failure.

 

He also hated being Alone, on his Back, in his Crib.  The well-publicized ABCs of safe sleep were not working for us.  I needed to hold my baby’s chest against mine every time I wanted him to sleep.

 

I reached out to a sleep coach to help me work through our challenges.  The coach suggested I lean into the pacifier.  She said to be firm when holding the pacifier in his mouth so he couldn’t spit it out. 

 

I tried that, but all I could think about was someone forcing something inside my mouth and pressuring me to hold it in when I didn't want it there. The thought made my stomach turn.  It felt like rape.

 

So I started to do exactly what my instincts told me to do – pick him up, hold him, love him, nurse him, let him sleep on me.  I gave him everything he needed to find sleep and stay there peacefully.

 

I truly loved every time I got to smell the pure sweetness of his skin while his tiny body rested on mine.  I loved resting my chin against his silky head of hair, watching his back rise and fall as he breathed deeply and peacefully.  I loved holding him in my arms.  I loved lending him my calm to help him calm himself.  He loved it too.  Co-regulation felt right.

 

As I walked further down my path of trauma-informed sleep support, I found better information.  I learned more about what infant sleep really looks like, and realized my culturally informed expectations of independent baby sleep were all wrong.   I paid closer attention to the unique needs of my baby, and I started to come up with creative ways to get him napping in his own room.  We’d lay on a blanket on his floor.  I could nurse him to sleep and roll away to have 10 minutes to myself.  That worked so well that we transformed his crib into a toddler bed and removed the legs.  Now he loves being in his crib.  He’ll nurse to sleep and nap there for an hour.  At night, he spends a few hours in his own bed before joining my husband and me in ours. 

 

And you know what?  We all seem pretty well-rested.  I still have really good sex with my husband at least once a week. Our 14-month-old is gradually learning to sleep on his own for longer periods of time.

 

And I can rest easy knowing that my slow and steady trauma-informed approach to sleep is bathing my baby’s developing brain in oxytocin, laying the groundwork for lifelong mental health and stress resilience – two of the best gifts I can give him as he grows up.