When Sleep Steals Time: Being a Part-Time Human

I often feel like a part-time human while everyone around me gets to live as full-time humans. People with narcolepsy talk about FOMO, but for us, it goes deeper. It’s not just the fear of missing out—we’re actually missing out. We’re not fully present in our own lives. We become part-time friends, part-time partners, part-time parents, children, and siblings.

Support, not shame

I’m incredibly fortunate to have a strong support system. My friends and family do their best to understand, even though they can’t fully grasp the exhaustion, brain fog, hallucinations, sleep attacks, and everything else that comes with narcolepsy. They’re sympathetic, patient, and supportive. I’m never made to feel guilty for my long naps or frequent need to rest.

Gratitude with sadness

No one gets angry if I need a break or miss part of an event. They’ve adjusted to my part-time presence—and while I’m grateful beyond words, I still feel a quiet sadness sometimes. As I lie down for yet another nap, I worry about what I’m going to miss. It hurts to pull away from people I care about, especially when our time together is limited. I hate “wasting” precious moments with loved ones because sleep demands it. Life goes on while I sleep—and that’s a lonely feeling.

Working through it

My job is full-time, and I’m lucky to have FMLA, which lets me take breaks when necessary. But that time off isn’t paid, and every minute I use takes a financial toll. My employer and coworkers know about my narcolepsy, and I make an effort to educate and advocate. I’m meticulous about completing tasks, meeting deadlines, and being fully present when it matters most.

The comments hurts

Still, despite all I do to hold up my end, I often feel like I’m playing catch-up. I hear comments like, “Well, if you were here, you’d know…” or “Must be nice—part-time with full-time benefits,” and “I wish I could take days off just to sleep.” The truth is, I’m not getting paid for that time. Those words sting. They feed my imposter syndrome, chip away at my confidence, and make me question whether others see me as lazy or uncommitted. It’s frustrating and hurtful to feel judged for something that’s completely out of my control.

Narcolepsy is heavy

Narcolepsy is hard. It’s heavy, it’s complex, and it demands more from us than most people ever realize. But people with narcolepsy are strong. We carry so much—often invisibly—and still find ways to keep going. For me, the only way through has been radical acceptance. This is my life. There’s no fix, no cure. I’ve learned to shape my world around narcolepsy instead of fighting it every step of the way.

Life is short—but when you’re living it part-time, it feels even shorter. So I do the best I can. I may not be a full-time human, but I try to be the best part-time human possible.