I live with someone who doesn't worry about things. He doesn't lie awake at night reviewing everything that has gone wrong or might go wrong. He just assumes that everything will work out fine. It's crazy, doesn't he know that worrying is what keeps the world spinning? Well, obviously I'm joking, sort of. Because sometimes it really does feel like our worry serves some vital function. Like our worry is what's holding everything together. Logically, I know worrying doesn't solve anything. And you probably know that too. So why do we lie awake at night running our personal disaster film festival? Why are we built this way? Part of it is evolutionary. Our ancestors who worried about threats survived longer than those who didn't. And women in particular shoulder more of this burden. We're often socialized to be the planners, the anticipators. Our brains are constantly running multiple programs. Tracking, planning, preparing. And we do this even though we know worrying at bedtime doesn't keep anyone safer. All it does is steal your rest and leave you exhausted for tomorrow. Good news is this can change. Not overnight, but gradually. You can learn to set worry down. At least for the hours when you need to sleep. Tonight, we're going to practice exactly that. We'll release your worries for tonight. And you'll enter a deep restorative sleep. But first, a few important things. Please make sure you're somewhere safe and comfortable for sleep. This episode uses hypnotherapy techniques. So you need to be in bed or another safe resting place. And if you've been listening to this show for a while, and it's been helping you sleep, I would be grateful if you could leave a review or rate the show. The show is just me. It's not part of some big media empire. And reviews generally help other sleepless people find their way here. So if you have a moment tomorrow, I would really appreciate it. Now, let's help you get comfortable. Take a moment to adjust anything that needs adjusting. Maybe your pillow needs fluffing. Or your blankets need pulling up. Or there's something pressing into your shoulder that needs moving. This is your time. Make it exactly right for you. Let your body settle. Really settle. Not just lie down. But let your weight fully rest into the surface beneath you. Notice where your body makes contact with the bed. Your head against the pillow. Your shoulders and back against the mattress. Your legs. Your arms. All of you, support it. Held. From this moment forward, all you need to do is listen to my voice. Let my voice be your anchor. Let it guide you deeper into relaxation with every word. You don't need to do anything. Figure anything out. Or even stay fully alert. In fact, if your attention drifts, and you find yourself fading in and out of awareness, that's perfect. That means it's working. My voice will be here. Gently leading you towards sleep. Whether you're consciously listening or not. Trust this process. Trust your body's ability to rest. Trust that sleep will come. Now let's begin. I want you to use your imagination now. I want you to imagine yourself somewhere else entirely. Yourself standing on a grassy hillside. You're barefoot. And the grass is soft. You can feel the earth underneath. Solid. And supportive. There's a gentle evening breeze moving across the hillside. Carrying with it the scent of wildflowers. Maybe there's a hint of warm earth there too. That smell that comes just as the day cools into evening. Behind you, there's a single old oak tree. Its leaves rustling softly in the breeze. You can hear that sound. A gentle shush of leaves moving. A sound that's been lulling people to sleep for thousands of years. The sun has just set. Painting the horizon in soft oranges and pinks. That are now fading into deeper purples and blues. The first star has just appeared. A single bright point of light. As you watch, another appears. And another. And you're holding balloons. Five balloons total. And they're surprisingly large. Each one about the size of a beach ball. These aren't cheerful party balloons. They're heavy with worry. And they pull at your arms. And here's the thing. You've been holding these balloons all day. Without even realizing it. They bobbed along behind you all day. Floating over your head. They followed you from room to room. Squeezing through doorways. Bumping into walls. But tonight, you don't have to hold them anymore. Not right now. Not while you're trying to rest. Let's look at what you're holding. In your right hand, grip tightly. It's a string attached to a gray balloon. The word money written across it in dark letters. It is full of all your financial worries. Bills that need paying. The constant arithmetic of what you can and cannot afford. Your wrist is tired from holding it. It's time to let this balloon go. Because lying awake at night doesn't pay bills. Tomorrow, you can make calls. Adjust budgets. Solve problems. But tonight. Tonight, you need rest. So that tomorrow's version of you has the energy and clarity to handle whatever needs handling. So open your fingers. Just let the string slip from your hand. Watch as the gray money balloon begins to drift upward. Slowly at first. Then catching the evening breeze. See it float up. It gets tinier and tinier. And then, it's gone. And feel what happens in your body. Fingers uncurl. Your hand drops to your side. Your breathing deepens. Your heart rate slows. Even your eyelids feel heavier. The sky is darker now. More stars have appeared. In your other hand, there's the brown balloon. It says, work on it. All those job worries. Difficult co-workers. The fear that you're not good enough. This balloon tugs heavily at your hand. It's time to let this balloon go. Because you've faced work challenges before. You have skills and experience that you can't quite see now in the growing darkness. But tomorrow morning, you'll remember. And the truth is, you've done what you could today. Whatever awaits tomorrow will still be there in the morning. The best thing you can do is rest. Let go. And watch as this work balloon begins its journey upward. See it rise steadily. Floating up past the oak tree. Up above the hillside. It drifts past the moon. For just a moment, you can see it. Silhouetted against that silver crescent. And then it continues upward. Becoming a tiny speck. And then, gone. You feel so much lighter. Notice how each breath comes easier now. Your heart is beating slower. Steadier. Your muscles around your eyes have softened. The sky is a deep, rich blue now. Darker at the top. Still holding a hint of purple near the horizon. Stars are scattered across it. More appearing every moment. Still in your left hand, you're holding a dark blue balloon. This one is labeled health. Maybe it's your own health you're worried about. Or maybe it's someone you love. This balloon feels heavier. More complicated to release. Yet, you've worried about health before. And you've coped. That strength is still in you. It's hard to feel it right now. Here in the darkness. But in the morning light, you'll be able to access it again. And here's what's true. Your body heals better when you sleep. Lying awake worrying about health doesn't make anyone healthier. The most loving thing you can do for yourself or the people you're worried about is rest. So let go of the string. Watch the balloon rise slowly until finally it's gone. Disappeared into the depth of the night sky. Your body is so much lighter now. You're feeling sleepier with each balloon that drifts away. The night has deepened. The moon has climbed higher, casting everything in gentle silver light. The oak tree behind you is a dark silhouette. Everything is peaceful. Everything is still. In your right hand, you are holding a dull red balloon. This one says relationships on it. All the complicated human worries. The argument you had. The worry that you're not good enough as a partner, a parent, a friend. The fear of abandonment. Yet you know every relationship in your life benefits when you are rested. You're more patient when you've slept. You're better able to listen and repair whatever needs repairing. Exhaustion makes everything harder, especially love. Let this balloon go. Watch it drift upward into the night. It also drifts across the face of the moon. Just for a moment, you can see it clearly. And then it continues its journey, becoming smaller and smaller. And then, nothing. Your hand drops to your side. Your shoulders drop even more. Your chest expands like there's suddenly more room to breathe. Your heart beats slowly, peacefully. You're so much sleepier now. So ready for rest. The night is fully here now. The sky is deep black. The Milky Way is visible. A river of light stretching across the darkness. Everything is quiet except for the gentle rustle of oak leaves. There is one balloon left. The biggest one. This one is translucent, shimmering in the moonlight. It says, the future, on it. All that uncertainty. What if things don't work out? What if you can't handle what's coming? This balloon shifts and changes. Because the future isn't even real yet. It's just a story your mind is telling. And you've faced uncertain futures before. You've walked into unknowns. And you've made it through. Every time. That capacity is in you. The future just looks frightening in the middle of the night. Right now, in this exact moment, you are safe. You are breathing. You are okay. The future will arrive in its own time. And you'll handle it. You are more resilient than your worry gives you credit for. Let the last balloon go. Watch as the translucent future balloon lifts away from your palm. It rises slowly, shimmering in the moonlight. Catching the starlight as it climbs. Higher and higher. Getting smaller. Becoming part of the night itself. And then, gone. And now, look up at the sky. It's filled with balloons. Millions of them. Drifting upward in every direction. As far as you can see. Everyone's worries. Floating up there among the stars. All of us. Releasing what we've been holding. You are not alone. We're all holding something. We're all learning to release. Both arms are so heavy now. The heaviness spreads through your entire body. Through your shoulders. Down your back. Into your legs. Your breathing is so slow. Your heartbeat is calm. Steady. Every muscle in your face is completely relaxed. You're lying here in your bed now, truly here. Not standing on a hillside anymore, but settled into the softness of your mattress, the gentle give of your pillow, the comforting weight of your blankets. And the worries—they're gone. There's nothing pulling at you anymore, nothing tugging you upward into alertness. You are earthbound now, grounded, heavy.

Your brain was running an old program tonight. The same program it's been running for years—the worry program, the vigilance program, the "stay alert for danger" program. It meant well. It was trying to protect you. But here, in this bed, in this moment, there is no danger to protect you from. You can let your mind go quiet.

Notice how your thoughts have changed. They're no longer sharp and distinct. They're not racing anymore, not spinning. Instead, they've become soft around the edges. Blurry. Like watercolors bleeding into each other, like clouds drifting across a darkening sky. You're moving into that beautiful in-between space—not quite awake anymore, but not quite asleep yet either.

This is that precious state where your brain waves are slowing down. You can feel it happening. There's a heaviness behind your eyes. Your thoughts are drifting further and further apart, like boats floating away from a dock. 

Each breath takes longer than the last. Each exhale carries away more wakefulness, more tension, more of whatever was keeping you alert. Your heart is beating in a steady, peaceful rhythm—the rhythm of rest, the rhythm of safety, the rhythm of sleep approaching.

There's nothing you need to do. Nothing you need to figure out. Nothing you need to remember or plan or solve. All of that belongs to tomorrow. 

Let yourself drift. There's nothing to hold onto anymore. The balloons are gone. The worries are gone. The day is gone. All that's left is this—this warmth, this safety, this beautiful heaviness pulling you down, down, down into the deepest rest. Sleep is here. It's been waiting for you. And now, finally, you're ready to meet it.

I’m Suzanne and this is your ticket to snoozeville. Sleep now. Sleep deeply. Sleep well.