When My Brain Randomly Switched Off — And No One Believed Me

I used to think something was wrong with my discipline. Or my motivation. Or my character. Because there were moments — usually in the middle of the day — when my brain would simply shut down, no matter how much I wanted it not to.

😴 Sleepiness That Didn’t Make Sense

This didn’t start when I was exhausted or burnt out.

It started when I was young.

Sometimes I’d slept badly the night before, sure. But other times I felt completely fine. Awake. Alert. Even motivated.

And yet, if I had to sit still for any length of time — in a meeting, a lecture, a quiet workspace — there was always a chance it could happen.

Not every time.
Not predictably.

But often enough that I began to fear it.

🪑 The Danger of Sitting Still

The strange thing was how strongly stillness seemed to trigger it.

If I was moving, engaged, talking, walking — I was usually okay.

But the moment things slowed down, something inside me flickered.

My eyes would grow heavy.
My head would dip.
My thoughts would blur.

It wasn’t boredom exactly.
It felt more like my brain deciding, without asking me, that it was done.

⚡ Trying to Fight It With Willpower

I tried everything I could think of.

Posture.
Fidgeting.
Cold water.
Mental pep talks.

I would tell myself: Stay awake. Pay attention. Don’t let this happen.

Sometimes I could shake it off.

Sometimes I couldn’t.

And when I couldn’t, the shame hit immediately.

🏢 When Other People Notice

The worst part wasn’t the sleepiness.

It was the visibility.

Occasionally, someone would notice.
A coworker. A supervisor. A peer.

Sometimes it was teasing.
Sometimes it was criticism.

Either way, the message landed the same:

You’re not trying hard enough.

I learned to hide it as best I could — catching myself just before it became obvious, pretending to stretch or cough or adjust something on my desk.

But hiding takes energy.

And energy was the very thing I was losing.

🧠 The Fear That Something Was Seriously Wrong

At some point, I started wondering if this was more than “being tired.”

The episodes felt too sudden. Too complete.

It was like the lights went off without warning.

I remember thinking that maybe I had some low-level sleep disorder. Something subtle enough to go unnoticed, but strong enough to interfere with daily life.

I didn’t pursue that thought very far.

Mostly because I didn’t know how — and partly because I worried I wouldn’t be taken seriously.

☕ Reaching for Stimulants (And Their Limits)

Like many people, I turned to caffeine.

Coffee.
Energy drinks.
Whatever was easily available.

They helped — sometimes.

But they weren’t a guarantee.

There were days when no amount of caffeine could fully prevent those moments. It might delay them, soften them, but not eliminate them.

And relying on stimulants came with its own downsides: jitters, crashes, disrupted sleep later on.

It felt like patching a leak without knowing where the pipe was broken.

🕰 Why It Changed As I Got Older

Somewhere along the way — in my late thirties, early forties — I noticed something shift.

The episodes became less frequent.

Not gone.
But quieter.

I’m not entirely sure why.

Maybe I started sleeping more regularly.
Maybe I became better at recognizing my limits.
Maybe hormonal changes played a role.
Maybe I just learned how to manage my energy better.

Honestly, I don’t know.

And that uncertainty used to bother me.

Now, I’ve made peace with it.

🍞 When Food Started Playing a Role

There was another pattern I began to notice later on.

Sometimes, the sleepiness followed meals.

Not heavy holiday meals.
Not turkey jokes.

Just certain foods.

Especially certain types of carbohydrates.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was brief. But it was real enough that I stopped dismissing it.

I realized that what I experienced wasn’t always “sleepiness” in the classic sense — sometimes it felt more like a sudden dip, a brief shutdown, as if my system had lost balance for a moment.

🧩 The Problem With Simple Explanations

People like simple explanations.

“You need more sleep.”
“You’re bored.”
“You should try harder.”
“Just drink coffee.”

None of those fully explained what I was experiencing.

Because sometimes I slept well.
Sometimes I was interested.
Sometimes I tried very hard.

And it still happened.

That’s the part that’s hardest to explain to someone who’s never felt it.

🪞 Looking Back Without Blame

When I think about my younger self now, I feel something close to compassion.

I spent years assuming the problem was my willpower.

That if I could just concentrate harder, stay disciplined, push through — I could control it.

But bodies don’t always respond to motivation.

Sometimes, they respond to physiology.

And learning that has changed how I treat myself.

🧠 What I Understand Now

I don’t claim to have a diagnosis.
I don’t claim to have a solution.

What I do have is a better understanding of my limits — and a refusal to shame myself for something I didn’t choose.

I also understand now that:

• mental shutdowns aren’t always laziness
• boredom and stillness can expose underlying vulnerabilities
• energy isn’t just psychological — it’s physical
• willpower has limits, and that’s okay

🤍 For Anyone Who’s Experienced This Quietly

If you’ve ever felt your brain switch off in the middle of the day — without warning — you’re not imagining it.

If you’ve ever been judged for it, teased for it, or blamed yourself for it, you’re not weak.

And if you’ve ever tried to power through it and failed, that doesn’t mean you didn’t try hard enough.

Sometimes, the most exhausting thing isn’t being tired.

It’s pretending you’re not.