Welcome back to another installment of Stories from Tina, where I document the slow, hilarious, and often painful reality of my body deciding it’s no longer in its twenties.
Today, we need to talk about the ultimate betrayal. It wasn’t a friend, it wasn’t a coworker, and it certainly wasn’t a bad plate of takeout. No, my friends, the betrayal came from inside the house. It came from my bed.
I saw a meme the other day that perfectly encapsulated my current state of existence. It read: “Getting older is crazy. One wrong pillow angle and your neck is disabled for the entire week.” I laughed when I read it. A deep, hearty, “isn’t that the truth” kind of laugh. Little did I know, the universe was taking notes and preparing to humble me.
Let me set the scene. It was a Tuesday night. I did everything right. I drank my chamomile tea. I did my little ten-step skincare routine so I could wake up glowing. I crawled into bed at a reasonable hour, feeling like a responsible, functional adult.
I grabbed my favorite pillow—the one I’ve trusted for months, the one that perfectly cradles my head—and gave it a gentle fluff. I positioned it exactly where it always goes. I closed my eyes, drifted off into a peaceful slumber, and dreamt of winning the lottery and buying a private island.
Everything was perfect.
Fast forward to 6:30 AM. My alarm starts playing that soft, supposedly “gentle” chime that actually induces immediate panic.
I went to hit snooze. A standard, thoughtless motion. I simply needed to turn my head two inches to the left to see the phone screen.
ZAP.
It wasn’t a crack. It wasn’t a pop. It was a searing, electrifying bolt of pure agony shooting from the base of my skull down to my left shoulder blade. My eyes watered instantly. I froze, hovering halfway between the mattress and a seated position, looking like a gargoyle that had been cursed mid-stretch.
I tried to ease back down. Pain.
I tried to sit all the way up. More pain.
I realized with a sinking feeling of utter despair: I had slept wrong. The pillow angle was off by perhaps a millimeter, and my neck had decided to file for immediate disability.
For the next seven days, my life was completely altered. You never realize how much you use your neck until it completely strikes on you.
Here is a brief list of things that are nearly impossible to do when your neck is “disabled”:
• Checking your blind spot: I had to become an owl, swiveling my entire torso and shoulders just to merge onto the freeway. I looked like Michael Keaton in the 1989 Batman suit trying to look at something behind him.
• Nodding in agreement: Someone would tell a story, and instead of a polite nod, I had to give them a rigid, full-body bow or just stare blankly like my WiFi was buffering.
• Drinking the bottom of a cup of coffee: You can’t tilt your head back! You just have to awkwardly slurp at the rim while maintaining intense, unblinking eye contact with whoever is sitting across from you.
My apartment began to smell exclusively of menthol, desperation, and IcyHot. I had heating pads rotating in the microwave like an assembly line. I tried looking up “yoga for neck pain” on YouTube, but getting down to the mat required a level of acrobatics my broken body simply couldn’t handle.
When did this happen? When did sleep become a contact sport?
I remember being a kid and falling out of a literal tree. I dusted my knees off, drank a Capri Sun, and went back to playing. I used to sleep on the floor at sleepovers with a rolled-up sleeping bag as a pillow and wake up feeling like a million bucks.
Now? Now I have to do a risk assessment before I lie down.
Here are some other ridiculous, low-stakes ways I have realized you can get injured once you cross a certain age threshold:
1. Sneezing too aggressively: You sneeze, and suddenly a muscle in your lower back twangs like a broken guitar string.
2. Reaching for something in the backseat of the car: A fantastic way to pull a weird side-oblique muscle you didn’t know existed.
3. Sitting slightly slouched on the couch: Your spine will exact its revenge for the next 48 hours.
4. Chewing a baguette: Jaw fatigue is real, people.
I am happy to report that after a week of smelling like a walking pharmacy and moving like a rusted Tin Man, my neck has finally regained about 85% of its mobility.
But the fear remains. Every night, as I look at my pillow, I wonder… is tonight the night? Is the angle right? Am I tempting fate?
Getting older is crazy. We spend our youth worried about extreme sports and wild adventures, only to find out the real danger was lurking in our bedding all along.
Stay safe out there, friends. Fluff your pillows carefully, stretch before you sneeze, and never take turning your head for granted.