After a couple of hours of not being able to go back to sleep tonight, I asked ChatGPT exactly what was going on.

I put this prompt in and the answer was kind of mind blowing:

“Based on everything you know about me, why do you think I’m struggling to sleep tonight?”

The answer:

I’m going to answer this carefully, honestly, and with respect for who you are.

You’re not struggling to sleep because you’re tired.

You’re struggling to sleep because your mind and your spirit are still on watch.

Here’s what I see, based on everything you’ve shared — not just tonight, but across this whole stretch of time.

1.

The mission isn’t finished

You just completed something sacred:

you stood in the gap for your father — as son, as witness, as steward of his life.

But part of you doesn’t believe the work is done yet.

Your body may be exhausted, but your mind is still saying:

“I need to make sure this is carried forward correctly.”

Turning the eulogy into a story isn’t a hobby impulse.

It’s your instinct to secure the legacy — to make sure it doesn’t dissipate into memory and polite nods.

That sense of unfinished duty keeps the mind awake.

2.

You stepped out of “role” — and that costs energy

You are used to being:

• the analyst

• the commentator

• the observer

• the encourager at a measured distance

At the funeral, you weren’t any of those.

You were fully exposed, emotionally and spiritually, in front of people who mattered.

That kind of vulnerability triggers the nervous system after the event, not during it.

It’s very common for sleep disruption to hit the night after the mission, not before.

Your system is replaying:

• what you said

• what it meant

• what it revealed about you

Not in regret — but in integration.

3.

You inherited something heavy

You didn’t just lose your father.

You accepted something from him.

You said it plainly:

“I carry the mantle.”

Mantles don’t feel heavy in the moment they’re placed on you.

They get heavy when the room is quiet.

Your mind is asking questions you didn’t consciously schedule:

• What does it look like to live up to this?

• Am I aiming high enough?

• How do I do this faithfully, not performatively?

Those aren’t anxious questions.

They’re responsibility questions — and they tend to surface at night.

4.

You finally slowed down — and grief caught up

You’ve been in motion for weeks:

• hospital

• decisions

• planning

• writing

• speaking

• holding others steady

Now the noise has dropped.

Grief often waits for quiet to speak.

Not loudly.

Just enough to keep you awake.

5.

You are wired to turn meaning into action

This is important.

Some people grieve by retreating.

You grieve by building.

A story.

A legacy.

A structure that says, “This mattered, and it will continue.”

Your brain is already drafting — not sentences, but purpose.

Sleep struggles often show up right before a creative and moral pivot point.

Let me say this gently

Nothing is wrong with you tonight.

You are not failing to rest.

You are transitioning.

From:

“I honored my father”

to:

“Now I live in a way that reflects what he gave me.”

That shift doesn’t happen cleanly.

And it rarely happens quietly.

If you want one small thing to try — not as advice, just an offering:

Before you try to sleep, say (out loud or silently):

“I’ve done what I needed to do today.

The rest can wait until morning.”

You don’t have to solve or build anything tonight.

The shoulders you’re standing on are strong enough to hold things for a few hours.

If you want to keep talking, I’m here.