Things I was sure about that weren't true: elevation and snoring
Okay. Still in "Pills, Trackers, and 3am," and today's is a two-for-one, because both of these things I was dead certain about, and I was wrong about both, in different ways.
Let's start with elevation.
When we moved to American Fork, I had a theory ready before we even unpacked the truck. We're sitting around 4,600 feet here, and I'd read somewhere that altitude messes with sleep, so I decided that was my problem. Less oxygen, worse sleep, case closed. I didn't test it. I just believed it, which honestly should've been my first clue, because that's not how I usually operate.
Then a few months in I was still waking up at 3am and I thought, wait, shouldn't I be used to the elevation by now if that's really what's doing it? So I actually looked into it instead of just repeating the thing I'd heard. Turns out elevation is a real factor, but mostly for the first week or two after you arrive somewhere higher than you're used to. Your body adjusts — makes more red blood cells, gets more efficient with the oxygen it's got — and after that initial adjustment period, it's not sitting there quietly wrecking your sleep every night for years. I'd been blaming the mountain for a problem the mountain gave up on months earlier.
I file that one under "things I was sure about that weren't true." If you moved here recently and your sleep's been rough, sure, give it a couple weeks and see if it settles. If you've lived here five years and you're still blaming the elevation, I'd look somewhere else. Actually — hang on, let me make sure I'm not overstating that. The research I've seen is mostly about oxygen saturation and sleep quality during the acclimation window, not a permanent tax on your sleep forever. So take that as "current me," not gospel.
Now, the other one. Todd snores. Anyone who's shared a bed with a snorer knows exactly what I'm about to say, which is that it's obviously why you're not sleeping well. I was sure of this for about a month. I'd lie there at 3am, hear him going, and think, there it is, that's my whole problem, right there next to me.
Here's the thing that actually moved the needle for me on this one: I started tracking it. Not fancy, just my notebook — the same one I use for genealogy hunches, actually, which tells you something about how my brain organizes information. I wrote down which nights I woke up at 3am and whether Todd was home or traveling for work.
And the nights he was gone? I still woke up. Just as often. Sometimes worse, honestly, because an empty side of the bed comes with its own noise, which is no noise at all, and that bugged me too.
So the obvious cause wasn't it. Or wasn't all of it. My 3am waking had more to do with the wine and the phone stuff I've talked about in earlier lessons than it did with Todd's snoring. That was a little humbling, because I'd built a whole narrative around him being the problem, and it turned out I needed to look at myself first. I still made him try nasal strips, to be clear. They probably help him sleep better even if they weren't fixing me. No harm in that one, cheap, easy, worth a shot if you've got a snorer in the house.
This is basically the same lesson as the $200 ring, if you've been through that one already. I wore that thing for three months hoping it would tell me what was wrong, and mostly it just confirmed what I already felt, plus made me anxious about my "score" some nights, which is its own kind of funny-sad. The ring didn't fix anything. The notebook did — because the notebook made me actually test my assumptions instead of just trusting the first explanation that showed up, whether that was altitude or a snoring husband or whatever else seemed obvious.
That's really my opinion here, stated as plainly as I can: trackers and gadgets are fine for curiosity, but they're not going to catch you being wrong about your own theory. Only writing it down and checking does that. I was sure about elevation and sure about Todd, and I was wrong both times, and the only way I found out was by putting pen to paper and comparing notes across a few weeks instead of trusting my gut in the moment at 3am, when my gut is, frankly, not at its best.
A quick caution here: if snoring in your house comes with pauses in breathing, gasping, or the snorer is exhausted no matter how much they sleep, that's not a nasal-strip problem. That can be sleep apnea, and it's outside my lane entirely. Please go see a doctor about that one, not me.
Before next time: if there's something you've been confidently blaming for your bad nights — a person, a place, the elevation, whatever — write down your theory, then track it for a week and see if the pattern actually holds up.