I know I’m not supposed to hate. I’ve been taught that for as long as I can remember . . . but I would like to state, for the record, that I absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, HATE daylight savings time. Did you know it’s a scientifically proven fact that the Monday following the implementation of this heresy—after we “spring forward”—is the worst Monday of the year because everyone is grouchy and moody and cranky and sleepy because they lost an hour of their lives? (I would also like to state that I much prefer “falling back”. If we’d just do that enough we could eventually gain a whole day . . .)

I can’t adjust. I. Cannot. Adjust. My brain and my body have yet to understand that it isn’t 11:00 P.M. anymore. It’s midnight. It’s midnight and I’m still going strong because I don’t normally hit the sack until an hour later. My brain and my body also refuse to acknowledge that it’s time to get up when the alarm on my phone starts howling an hour earlier than that to which they are accustomed. There is something terribly, terribly wrong when I have to crawl out of my soft, comfy bed before the sun has to crawl out of his . . . or hers, whichever is appropriate. I know, I know. There are people who have to do that on a daily basis as a part of their job and new parents who stumble around in the dark at the beck and call of a screaming infant. But I’m not any of those people. I appreciate them all, and there have been those times when I’ve been required to rise in what was obviously the middle of the night. But not on a daily basis over an extended period of time where I was expected to consistently function like a rational, clear-thinking human being.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to fix this.

Why is it so difficult to adjust to something so simple, so insignificant? It’s just one hour. All I have to do is make myself go to bed an hour earlier than I think I’m supposed to for a few days and, before you know it, this will be my new normal and it will all be okay. But I don’t do the one thing I know will make it all better, or at least bearable (until that glorious weekend when the “falling back” occurs) and then I wonder why I struggle with it so much.

There are people in this world who have to adjust to far more than a lost hour. Lost jobs, lost possessions, lost homes, lost lives, they all bring about that same insanity—the unbearable desire for life as it was, knowing it can never be that way again. But instead of taking the steps we know might eventually bring about a bearable “new normal”, we continue as we always have and wonder why life never improves.

I’m very fortunate. Even if I never train my body to accept this new schedule, in approximately six months this abomination will go away and my internal clock will be in sync with everyone else’s time keeping devices. But people trying to cope with any kind of loss are not so blessed. There is no law that will decree a return to a time when life was comfortable and secure and routine—and time alone isn’t going to bring about healing or adjustment. We have to take the steps necessary to begin the process, to help it along. That may mean joining a support group, meeting with a counselor, educating ourselves on what we are experiencing, or just finding someone we can lean on when the going gets tough. The steps are different for everyone but one thing is the same across the board. Although there may be those who will never manage to adjust to their altered lives, the majority can—but it is only possible if we are willing to work for it.

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