Professional Ceiling Inspector
Updated: May 21
I recently took on a second job. I didn’t apply for it; the hours are terrible, the pay is nonexistent, and the uniform is essentially an oversized Greg T-shirt—I kept about twenty of his favorites—and mismatched socks (though let’s be honest, those definitely get kicked off to the bottom of the bed right before I actually drift off). My official title? Professional Ceiling Inspector.
There is a specific shift that happens when the rest of the world goes quiet. During the day, you can stay busy. You can answer emails, run errands, and keep your mind moving fast enough to outrun the heaviest parts of grief. But at night, the distractions run out. The bedroom gets incredibly quiet, and that quiet has a way of magnifying the empty space right beside you.
But grief sleep looks different for everyone. Take my mom, Marsha, for example. Our grief journeys are only one year apart (miss you, Daddy!), but our midnight hours couldn’t be more different. Mom is a classic night owl. Because she has the hard-earned luxury of retirement, she can lean into those heavy nighttime hours without the pressure of an alarm clock. If the ceiling inspection takes too long, she has the grace to catch up on her sleep during normal working hours.
I, on the other hand, don't have that luxury. No matter how many hours I spend inspecting the ceiling, the morning sun brings a firm reality: I still have to get up, get dressed, and show up for work.
And let me tell you, when you’ve finally drifted into actual sleep somewhere around 3:29 AM, the sound of that morning alarm going off at 4:45 AM isn't just a wake-up call. It feels like a targeted, highly offensive personal attack. There is a specific kind of internal rage that comes with hearing that beep when you've only just stopped counting the texture bumps on your drywall.
Because of that, I’ve had to learn the hard way that there is a massive difference between "sleeping" and getting quality sleep. It’s not that I never close my eyes, but grief sleep is shallow. It’s interrupted. It often leaves you waking up just as exhausted as when your head first hit the pillow. When you have a schedule to keep, you have to find ways to fight for whatever deep rest you can get.
Changing Spaces and Unmade Beds
In the online spaces and grief communities I’ve connected with, I’ve noticed so many people mention that they can’t even bring themselves to sleep in their own bedrooms anymore after losing their person. The room itself holds too many memories, and the empty bed feels too massive, so they find comfort on the couch or in a guest room instead.
I haven't personally had that issue—the bedroom is still where I lay my head—but I will say that the state of my sanctuary has definitely taken a hit. Right now, my bedroom looks exactly like what Greg would call "the wreck of the Hesperus." It was a phrase he inherited from his Granny Casper, and it’s the ultimate description for utter chaos. (Apparently, it comes from a famous 1839 poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow about a ship that gets completely destroyed in a storm, which feels entirely accurate). Between laundry piles, random papers, and the general clutter of life, Granny Casper would definitely have some thoughts about my current interior design strategy.
But when you're a Professional Ceiling Inspector, you learn to let the clutter go. If the room is a wreck, so be it. Instead, you put all your energy into the survival strategies that help you fight for whatever quality sleep you can find.
Over the months, I’ve had to build a very specific, intentional nighttime toolkit. It’s not a picture-perfect "wellness magazine" routine—it’s an honest-to-goodness survival plan for a working woman navigating a broken heart.
My Midnight Toolkit
The Survival Pre-Game: Before I even attempt to sleep, I make the coffee and set it to auto-brew for the next morning. It is the ultimate act of insurance. It’s an acknowledgment that even if tonight’s ceiling inspection is a long one, caffeine is everything, and future-me will at least have a hot cup of coffee waiting to drag her through the workday. I also walk on the treadmill (most nights) for at least 30 minutes.
The Evening Wind-Down (and the Reality Check): On the especially tough nights, I’ll sometimes have a glass of wine, some Tito's, or another alcoholic beverage just to take the edge off the evening. But I've had to be really honest with myself here: if I have too much, it completely disturbs whatever chance I have at peaceful sleep. It might make you drowsy at first, but it cheats you out of the actual rest you need. Plus, I did promise Avery that I wouldn't turn into some unrecognizable raging alcoholic after her dad passed away, and I’d really like to keep my streak of being "the responsible one" alive for at least another week.
The Chemistry of Calm: So instead of leaning too hard into that, I pivot to the things that actually help my body settle: my nighttime gummy and my magnesium supplement, which I seriously swear by. (If you’re staring at your own ceiling and looking for a good one, this is the exact magnesium I use.
The Physical Wash-Off and a Familiar Comfort: Then comes the familiar, grounding rhythm of washing my face and brushing my teeth. There’s something therapeutic about the routine of it—it serves as a physical boundary, letting my body know the day is officially over. But the real secret weapon here is the luxurious smell of my face oils. It is, oddly, deeply comforting to me. Greg always loved the scent of it, too, and breathing that in every night brings a little piece of him into the routine, which makes my heart really happy.
Coasting Without Pressure (and the Streaming Trap): Once I’m in bed, I put something on the TV just for background noise—or, let's be honest, I get completely caught up in a Netflix or HBO Max series. There are nights when I know I am actively sabotaging my own sleep, but I just HAVE to finish one more episode. It’s easy to feel guilty about that, but the truth is, distractions are sometimes the only way to offset the LOUDNESS of the quiet. Whether it's watching a show, taking time to write the heavy thoughts down, or just doom scrolling for a bit, it’s all about letting the brain coast without any pressure until it's ready to turn off.
The Final Sign-Off with "Ziggy": To close out the shift, I say "Goodnight, Ziggy"—my affectionate nickname for my bedroom Alexa device. That triggers it to blast very loud, deep brown noise. When I say loud, I mean it. There could literally be an explosion or a full-blown crime happening downstairs, and I would have absolutely no idea because this thing is dialed up to a blackout volume. But it completely drowns out the heavy, heavy silence of the house and gives my mind a steady, deep frequency to finally drift off to.
Some nights, despite every gummy, sound machine, and face oil in my arsenal, sleep still refuses to come. There is a deep, specific frustration that sets in when you are doing all the 'right' things for your healing and therapy, yet you still end up feeling completely drained by the effort of just trying to exist. There is a deep, specific brand of irritation that sets in when you realize you’re actually putting in overtime just to try and lose consciousness. It’s a physical and mental exhaustion that leaves you feeling less like some noble 'grief warrior' and more like a person who is one more spin of the ceiling fan away from a total meltdown. Honestly, it’s just plain salt-in-the-wound frustrating to have to work this hard at something as basic as a nap.
Need a Few Extra Tools?
If you don’t have a "Ziggy" to blast brown noise, or just need a different way to anchor your mind, there are some great apps the community swears by. BetterSleep is the gold standard for custom soundscapes if you want to mix your own blackout frequency, while Calm offers famous-voiced "Sleep Stories" that provide a perfect mental distraction without the blue light of a TV screen. For a budget-friendly option, Insight Timer features a massive free library of meditations and music specifically tailored for navigating grief and insomnia.
What is your primary weapon against the "LOUDNESS of the quiet"?
The Sound Wall: My noise machine is cranked
The Streaming Trap: I'm three episodes deep into a TV series
The Chemistry of Calm: I swear by my supplements or meds
The Reality Check: A cocktail (or two) to take the edge off
Clocking Out
Whether your bedroom is a sanctuary or currently looks like the wreck of the Hesperus, and whether you are a night owl like my mom or a working-day ceiling inspector like me, the truth remains the same: grief is hard physical labor. Our brains and our hearts are doing a massive amount of heavy lifting, and it makes complete sense that real, restorative rest is hard to come by.
So, to my fellow Professional Ceiling Inspectors out there staring upward in the dark tonight—be incredibly gentle with yourselves. If you need to make the coffee early, turn up the brown noise, or just brace yourself for that offensive morning alarm, do it. We don't have to navigate this perfectly. We just have to survive the night, clock out when the sun comes up, and take it one cup of coffee at a time.
Until next time, solidarity to my fellow inspectors.
May your brown noise be loud,
your coffee be strong,
and your night shift be short.
Join the Conversation
If you are currently on the midnight shift with me, what does your routine look like? Do you have a favorite sleep ritual, a comfort show, or a specific trick that helps you quiet your mind? Drop a comment below—I’d love to hear how you navigate these heavy hours.
And if the night is long and you need a place to put your thoughts, keep a notebook by your bed and try using one of these journal prompts to help clear your mind:
The Brain Dump: Write down every single "what-if," task, or heavy thought currently bouncing around your head. Leave them on the paper so your mind doesn't have to carry them into the dark.
Sensory Comfort: What is one specific sound, scent, or physical comfort (like a heavy blanket or a favorite pillow) that makes you feel just a little bit safer right now? Focus deeply on that feeling.
A Letter to Your Person: If they were sitting on the edge of the bed right now, what is the one thing you would want to whisper to them before trying to sleep?
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