In Australia, we have two (main) terms for afternoon rests: ‘power kips’ and ‘nanna naps’.
For the first, you’re more likely to make a conscious decision to go lie down. You might even set your alarm clock to be sure you get back up at a certain time.
The nana nap is more impromptu. They tend to happen when you’re lying in the sun in the garden or reading a book on the couch. One minute you’re chilling out, the next minute you’re out cold.
BOTH versions are unpredictable in terms of how you might wake up.
You MIGHT arise feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, energized, ready to go for the homerun through to nighttime. OR you might wake up startled, disoriented, bemused and confused, even concerned. Less ‘ahhh’ more ‘wah? Where am I?’ For the first version of a wake-up you feel a bit smug, as if you’ve cheated the system. For the second type of wake-up, you feel cheated, it’s as if you lost something. This type of wake up is harder too because you’re often inexplicably more tired than you were before you feel asleep. It’s a form of rest that leaves you restless.
As someone who’s spent more than my fair share of time resting, I like to call my afternoon retreats ‘power-naps’. I make a deliberate decision to go to bed, but don’t set my alarm. My body will wake me up when it’s done resting. It means I’m more likely to wake up rejuvenated rather than resentful. It’s still risky though. Leave it too late in the afternoon and you risk colliding with dinner preparation. Worse, if you sleep too long then when you go to bed-bed ready for your nighttime sleep, but your body says, “haven’t we done this before?” and lays there making you stare at the ceiling for hours on end.
Sigh. Rest assured rest is not always assured! (But it sure can be nice!)
Take care resting, Linda x
PS – just a quick note about yesterday’s ‘letter to neurologists’ – a couple of people sent notes to check on me. Please know; I am OK and my neurologist is OK. I saw him yesterday for Botox and gave him a box of chocolates to say thanks for all that he does. The letter was not an attack on him. I prefer writing on this blog optimistically about joy and hope, but the reality of a life with migraine is that there is a lot of darkness too. The letter was not intended to be depressed or angsty, it was just a way of consolidating feelings I have experienced from several different medical appointments, as well as feedback from others; it was intended as a montage of emotions; authentic, vulnerable, perhaps a little too raw… but still, very real. Sometimes you have to say the quiet part out loud in case no one else can.
The Mindful Migraine 
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