On a recent weekday morning, I was struggling to wake my 16-year-old so she wouldn’t miss her first class.
I had used all of my morning wake-up tricks, from nudging her to flipping on the lights and even summoning our dog to jump on the bed. At long last, my daughter was on her way to school, but not fast enough to avoid another tardy.
On other mornings, I let her sleep in because I know she hasn’t gotten enough hours of rest.
Her school starts early in the morning
I realize that waking up on time for school — which begins in our district at 7:25 a.m. — is my daughter’s responsibility. But I also know that high school start times don’t align well with adolescent circadian rhythms, which prompt teens to sleep and wake later.
The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that high schools start no earlier than 8:30 a.m. Still, across the country, the average class start time is 8 a.m.
My daughter’s high school has one “late start” day each month, during which school begins at 9:40 a.m. and classes are shortened.
On those days, the world seems brighter: My teen wakes up rested and better prepared for class, and her fog of sleep deprivation lifts long enough for us to joke and laugh over breakfast.
Those mornings offer a wistful glimpse of what could be if more schools made later start times the norm.
I sometimes let my daughter sleep in, but I have mixed feelings about it
Before her junior year of high school, my teen usually didn’t have trouble waking up for class. But the past year has been intense, due in part to a hyper-competitive college admissions landscape that is pushing students to work harder than ever in class and beyond.
Between homework, sports, a part-time job, preparing for college applications, and the ACT, my daughter has put in a lot of late nights.
Throw in friend hangouts, family obligations, and the endless pull of social media, and there’s not much downtime.
When I see how exhausted my daughter is, I want to help her. So on several occasions, I’ve excused her from first period to get more sleep.
But I’m questioning whether that’s the right decision. On the one hand, I’m trying to support her health. At the same time, I wonder if I’m doing my teen a disservice in a world where she needs to be functional early in the morning — no matter how tired she feels.
If she doesn’t learn to wake up early now, what will happen when she’s taking an 8 a.m. college class or holding down her first full-time job?
I worry about the consequences she’ll face when the stakes are higher.
I’m trying to focus on supporting my teen
I’ve tried different strategies to encourage my teen to get more rest, from delivering fervent monologues on the importance of sleep to limiting her screen time at night.
A few times, I’ve suggested she curtail a social commitment in favor of an earlier bedtime, but I may as well have asked her to sprout wings and fly. I’ve since realized that, like many teens, my daughter will always choose her friends and leisure time over that extra hour or two of sleep.
As the school year wraps up, I’ve tried to stop lecturing, wheedling, and fretting about my teen’s sleep. Instead, I’m focusing on helping her finish the year strong.
We’re working to use her remaining parent-excused absences strategically — like after a late-night soccer game away or on a day when she has three exams.
While there’s no magical solution for my teen’s sleep deficit, focusing on what matters to her has helped us get on the same page. For now, I’m counting the days until summer and a much-needed reprieve from morning wake-up struggles.
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