Dear Dream Doctor,

Through lucid dreams, can one control the amount of sleep needed to go on a normal life? I know of someone who through lucid dreams is able to spend only 3-4 hours a night asleep. Is this possible? If so, how?

—Andy, USA

Hi Andy—

Stories you hear about people who only require four hours of sleep per night—and who claim to be wholly rested the following day—without a need for naps or without diminished performance in daily activities—most likely are inaccurate. As a rule, people are not very good self-reporters on their sleep. One area where people tend to be wildly inaccurate, however, is in their estimations of time spent asleep. It is a genuine curiosity of sleep, that we find it so difficult to make accurate self-assessments of it. Accordingly, while I think your friend may be stretching his story a bit for effect—I also think he may not be aware of how much time he is actually spending asleep.

I once recorded an insomniac in a sleep laboratory who forever impressed me in this regard—and I think the lesson learned is valuable to all people who have insomnia or occasional trouble sleeping.

After an hour or so of laying in bed awake, our insomniac patient drifted off to sleep. She had all the normal sleep stages—deep sleep, light sleep, and REM. After three hours she awoke and was awake for about 45 minutes. Then she drifted off again, and slept another 2 hours. In an almost 7 hour recording, our patient had slept only 5 hours. Not great sleep—but also not bad for being in a strange bed, with electrodes taped on her, etc.

When I got the patient up, I asked her how she had slept. “The same as always,” she replied, “I did not sleep a wink!” I was surprised. I had just spent 5 hours watching this woman sleep—as verified by an EEG machine. “Not a wink?” I asked. “Not one minute,” she repeated.

To this day I still believe the machine more than the woman. But what was important in all this was that she genuinely believed that she hadn’t slept at all. Ultimately, this woman took great relief from being shown the hundreds of pages of sleep recording that showed her asleep—first in one stage—now in the next. The test helped her to understand that, although her sleep was disturbed, that her insomnia actually wasn’t as bad as she thought.

As a consequence, every time I have ever laid in bed waiting for sleep to arrive, I have thought back to this woman, and then I tell myself it’s probably not as bad as I think. For some reason, just letting go of the belief that I know exactly what is going on with my sleep helps me to relax, and to not worry so much about my supposed “lost sleep.”

In no way is my story an attempt to slight the agony that insomniacs nightly suffer. But if it helps anyone else to relax a bit, and thus to sleep, I’ll be pleased.

For insomniacs who want to read more about their nightly battles with Morpheus, try visiting insomniacure.com.