It is 5:08 a.m., and I am absorbed in a Freida McFadden book, having just discovered the joy of being invested in a psychological thriller. I am surrounded by LED cherry blossom lights and fairy lights to make my tiny dorm space cozy. No, I didn’t decide to wake up at 5 a.m. to start my day with something therapeutic, I stayed up until 5 a.m. to do something therapeutic.
Earlier, I woke up at a reasonable hour for my 9 a.m. class and spent my afternoon in my research lab. Back on campus, I headed straight to the MSE Annex for a very intense lock-in session, scrutinizing lecture notes, making almost a hundred Anki flashcards and sketching mindmaps on the whiteboard, studying for Cellular and Systems I. Later, I had a club event and then a GBM. The day moved in a blur, each hour packed with demands and expectations, each task competing for my attention. Time just seemed to accelerate as I got back to my dorm at about 11 p.m. with more housekeeping responsibilities. Between lectures, labs, events and meetings, there was barely a moment to pause, eat or even process what I had done. Emails, messages, deadlines all demanded my attention pulling me in every direction.
At midnight, as I fulfilled my responsibilities for the day, a strange mix of exhaustion and restlessness settled over me. I didn’t have a midterm in another month and my only rigorous class was Cellular and Systems I, so there was no looming demanding late-night cramming; I didn’t need more hours for productivity. I could just go to bed and get just an adequate amount of sleep to wake up for my morning class. And yet, the idea of simply lying in bed just felt suffocating.
So I stayed up. There was this TikTok trend I found really funny that I desperately wanted to watch to get a good laugh, just to feel a spark of joy that had been crowded out by the constant demands of the day (“Sometimes you just gotta read your mom’s text and go about your day”). One video led to another, then to another and, before I knew it, I was scrolling endlessly, maniacally laughing at literally any Tiktok I watched (like those Subway Surfer chaotic voiceover storytimes). My For You page was a chaotic mix of absurdity and brainrot, and in that past-midnight haze, I experienced this sudden, euphoric giggliness.
I was just uncontrollably, completely lost in the joy of the moment. My scrolling became like an addictive psychoactive drug as I wanted to keep experiencing this sense of euphoria. I started picking up other late-night hobbies, hence, that thrill I mentioned earlier, deeply invested in a gripping psychological thriller (shoutout to Freida McFadden). During those stolen hours of night when it’s the quietest on campus, I exist solely for myself as I chase joy, curiosity and thrill in whatever catches my attention.
This is revenge bedtime procrastination: something I learned while doomscrolling at 3 a.m. As we are bombarded with high expectations and responsibilities, especially attending a rigorous institution, there is basically no time to exist solely for ourselves. So when the night falls and everyone’s asleep, we cling to the hours that were never truly ours, sacrificing a basic necessity and staying awake as a quiet act of rebellion as we strive to reclaim control over the moments that belong to us.
I’ve always thought I was just a night owl, but now I see it differently. These stolen hours are simply my refuge where expectations and commitments can’t reach me. This is when I can let my curiosities wander freely and entertain whatever impulse or distraction my brain throws at me during the day. I don’t keep track of time as I just mindlessly slip from one thing to the next. All day, I’m rushing to keep up with time, but the second the world finally goes quiet, I flip and run the other way as if the clock just stopped running.
And yet, the consequence is predictable. With morning classes, I wake up with half the sleep my body actually needs as I am running on caffeine and adrenaline instead of rest. This exhaustion builds throughout the day as I can barely keep my eyes open during my 9 a.m. class, and I even have to use the JHMI ride to take a nap. As my alarm blares, my bed suddenly becomes the most luxurious thing in the world. The same blankets that felt suffocating at 3 a.m. now feel impossibly soft, warm and forgiving like I’m cocooned in a cloud in heaven. Do I love sleeping? Yes. Do I avoid it? Yes. Do I regret it when I have to face the consequences? Yes. Will I repeat this cycle? Yes.
Because deep down, I know this isn’t just about bad time management or being lazy: it’s a very human response to feeling like our days don’t belong to us, especially in a place where we strictly live off of routine with every hour scheduled and an immense pressure to excel. In the daytime I am a student. At night, I am a person. I simply exist without feeling evaluated. In other words, the night is just honest, and I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to prioritize: my day time productivity or night time joys.
No matter how much I complain, the universe doesn’t care about my philosophical crisis. I’ll always have deadlines. I’ll always have sleep debt. The cycle will continue no matter how much I hate feeling groggy and disoriented. Maybe I am my own biggest opp after all, but I’m simply just trying to feel whole in a life that measures my self worth on midterm scores and the appearance of constant productivity. Revenge bedtime procrastination isn’t just a habit: it’s just a way to reclaim the hours just to be true to myself even if it costs my sleep, my focus and my future self.
Grace Wang is a sophomore from Tuscaloosa, Ala. majoring in Neuroscience. Her column chronicles life's unpredictable, beautiful mess — never neat, always honest and willing to show the chaos, contradictions and awkward truths we usually try to hide.
