I am officially old.
Or… I am the Princess and the Pea.
Honestly, take your pick. Neither feels like a win.
So here’s what I’ve discovered.
My insomnia?
Not stress.
Not hormones.
Not some deep, mysterious life issue.
No.
It was caused by a certain nameless teenager living in my home.
You see, this individual decided that my once perfectly firm, glorious, sleep-supporting pillows were—
and I quote—
“hard as rocks.”
Excuse me???
So naturally, instead of… I don’t know… grabbing a different pillow like a normal human…
She performed what I can only describe as pillow surgery.
Pulled the insides apart. Fluffed them. Destroyed their structural integrity.
All so she could watch TV more comfortably on my bed.
My bed.
My pillows.
All of them.
And I have been unknowingly suffering ever since.
Because here’s the thing…
I used to be able to sleep anywhere.
On anything.
Floor? Fine. Couch? Great. Random pile of blankets? Perfect.
Meanwhile, my husband—change his pillow and suddenly it’s a full-blown situation.
I used to think he was being dramatic.
(Sorry, babe.)
Turns out… he was right.
The right pillow?
It is the difference between an amazing night’s sleep and laying there questioning every life choice you’ve ever made at 2:37 AM.
Who knew.
Thankfully, we live in a time where solutions arrive within hours.
God bless Amazon Prime and same-day delivery.
Because let me tell you…
I have already tested my new pillows.
And a solid five-hour nap has confirmed:
We are back.
The offender?
Oh, don’t worry.
She has officially inherited all of the “softened” pillows.
She insisted.
Funny how that worked out.
And just like that…
My sleep is restored.
My sanity is returning.
And my world is already looking a little brighter.
Still dramatic.
Slightly older.
Definitely wiser…
Still A Bri Too Much. 😌✨