I’ve always slept with a fan on, convinced I couldn’t rest without its steady hum. Friends teased me, but I never cared—until I read an article claiming fans could dry out your throat, trigger allergies, and even worsen asthma. That night, I tried sleeping without it. The silence was unbearable. My mind raced with worries, and by 2 AM, I gave in and turned it back on.
Over the next few days, doubts lingered. Was my fan helping or hurting me? A friend’s sleep therapist suggested the real issue wasn’t the fan itself but my reliance on it. That struck a chord. I realized I’d bought my first fan after my father passed, filling the silence that once held his blues humming from the kitchen. The fan wasn’t just comfort—it was a shield against grief.
So I unplugged it. Nights were rough, but journaling and talking with loved ones slowly brought peace. In silence, I remembered, cried, and healed. Now I sleep without the fan—and without fear.
Sometimes, silence is exactly what we need.
