For years, I relied on the soft hum and breeze of my desk fan to fall asleep. It felt like comfort, routine—essential. But after reading an article about fans causing dry throats, allergies, and worsening asthma, I began to question it. Could this habit be harming me? I tried sleeping without the fan. The silence was jarring. Thoughts I usually suppressed came rushing in—unfinished projects, awkward memories, and unresolved grief. I didn’t last long. By 2 a.m., the fan was back on, but the unease lingered.

A conversation with my friend Saira led to an unexpected insight: her sleep therapist said that strong sleep associations, like needing a fan, can mask deeper emotional issues. It hit me—I’d started using the fan after my dad died. Its hum had replaced the sound of him singing in the kitchen. I wasn’t just avoiding heat or noise. I was avoiding grief. I unplugged the fan and allowed myself to sit in silence.

I journaled, cried, reconnected with my sister, and even opened up to neighbors. Slowly, I slept better. The silence no longer felt scary—it felt honest. Then something incredible happened: my dad’s old friend gave me a box of letters my father wrote before he passed. In them, he told me how proud he was and how much he loved me. Reading those letters brought a peace I didn’t know I needed.

Today, I sleep without the fan. I feel lighter. And I’ve learned that sometimes, what we think is just a habit is really a wound waiting to be healed. If you rely on something to sleep, you’re not alone—but maybe it’s worth asking what silence might be trying to say.