This Chair Isn’t for Work—It’s for My Narcolepsy

If you come into my office, you might notice that I have a convertible sleeper chair that I sit in during therapy sessions. You’ll probably see the wheels not so subtly hidden right next to the legs of the chair so the bottom part can roll out and turn it into something you can sleep on. When I tell people it’s for taking naps at the office, they usually chuckle and say something like “oh, that’s such a good idea”. They seem to think it was a lighthearted, somewhat luxurious purchase so that I can have some extra comfort and rest during downtime at the office.

What no one realizes is that I don’t really have a choice in the matter – I have to take naps. I have Type 2 Narcolepsy.

Narcolepsy is widely misunderstood and I’ve come across several people who don’t even know what it is at all. It usually doesn’t look like what you’d expect or what’s portrayed in the media, although sometimes it can. I don’t fall asleep standing up or in the middle of speaking, but my life is significantly harder because of this disorder. It’s heavy and drooping eyelids despite my best intentions, it’s brain fog and having trouble putting sentences together, it’s never feeling rested no matter how much or how little sleep I get. It’s having to accept that I will be horribly tired almost every day of my life.

Although I have a diagnosis that means my brain doesn’t know how to regulate its sleep-wake cycles, there are still a lot of times where I shame myself or try to dismiss the intensity of my excessive daytime sleepiness. When this happens, I try to remind myself of one simple fact - a person without narcolepsy would have to stay awake for up to 48 to 72 hours in order to reach the same level of fatigue that a person with narcolepsy experiences every day.

Even when I have this information in my mind, I still have a hard time. So then I ask myself, would I ever shame someone else for their sleepiness? No, so what’s the benefit in doing it to myself? Over time, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that my life might look a little different (at least behind closed doors) compared to someone who doesn’t have a sleep disorder…and that’s okay.

Buying a sleeper chair for my office wasn’t just a logistical decision. I realized it was an act of self-care and acceptance. It was me saying:

I deserve to work in a way that honors my body and mind.

I can be a competent therapist—and someone who needs rest.

There’s nothing shameful about adjusting my needs to better care for myself.

Having a place to nap when I need it doesn’t make me less professional. It demonstrates that I know what I need to be the best version of myself. When we show up for ourselves and our health, we’re subtly saying to our subconscious mind:

Hey, I see you and I’m going to take care of you because you matter.

Living with narcolepsy has made me a better therapist in many ways. It’s deepened my empathy for the often invisible challenges people carry. It’s shown me how hard it can be to advocate for your needs when the world doesn’t fully understand them.

Rest is not simply a luxury. It’s a biological need, yet many of us feel guilty for it. Whether you’re living with a sleep disorder, chronic fatigue, burnout, or just a full life—you are allowed to rest. Even if you don’t have a full schedule—I don’t care what anyone says—you’re allowed to rest. If you’re simply a human being, not only are you allowed, but you need to rest. And sometimes, healing starts with making space for that need without an apology.