Sleep story · warm, home
Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when nothing else has worked today — for a racing mind
One small light on, a cooling cup of tea, and the rest of the house dark.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.
The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Just the breath. Sleep.
Slower now. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Slower.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Almost nothing to do now. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Nothing else has worked today. That is not a reason to skip this.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are on your own — for a restless night, The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are new to this — for the hours after a late shift or A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have done this a hundred times — for jet lag.