I think sleep is probably the neglected stepsister in the health

In a world that exalts movement and ambition, Matthew Walker, the great scholar of slumber, spoke words of both lament and revelation: “I think sleep is probably the neglected stepsister in the health conversation today. I think we've done a good job regarding physical activity and diet, but sleep has remained out there in the cold, and that's surprising to me.” In his voice is the sorrow of an age that has forgotten one of its oldest healers. For while men run faster and eat cleaner, they no longer rest, and in doing so, they have turned away from one of the most sacred rhythms of life — the cycle of sleep and renewal.

In the time of the ancients, sleep was not seen as weakness but as wisdom. The Greeks spoke of Hypnos, the gentle god who descended each night with his wings of darkness to bring peace to mortals. The Romans built temples for rest and dreams, where the weary could seek healing through sleep’s sacred art. Even the warriors of old, hardened by battle, knew that rest was the gatekeeper of strength. Yet in this modern age, man has rebelled against nature’s clock. He burns his nights in the furnace of productivity and praises wakefulness as if exhaustion were a crown of honor.

Walker’s words are a reminder that in neglecting sleep, we have turned away from balance itself. We polish the body through diet and movement; we tend the garden of health through mindfulness and medicine. But we have left the “stepsister” outside — unseen, undervalued, her gifts forgotten. Yet she holds the key to all the others. For without sleep, the diet cannot nourish, the exercise cannot strengthen, and the mind cannot think clearly. Sleep is not an accessory to health; it is its foundation, the silent architect that rebuilds what each day destroys.

Let us recall the story of Leonardo da Vinci, whose brilliance burned like a comet across the sky of the Renaissance. It is said he slept in fragments, resting only in brief intervals so that he might work endlessly. Yet even his genius was shadowed by weariness. For though he conquered time in the short term, his body bore the toll of long deprivation. Contrast this with the healers of the East, who taught that harmony with the body’s rhythms was a path to enlightenment — that to sleep well was to live in accord with heaven and earth. They understood what we have forgotten: that rest is not the absence of action, but the preparation for it.

The neglect of sleep is not merely a personal failing but a cultural blindness. We celebrate the one who rises before dawn, who works past midnight, who claims to “need only four hours.” Yet beneath the applause lies decay — minds clouded by fatigue, hearts burdened by stress, and bodies eroded by sleeplessness. Walker’s astonishment — his “surprise” — is the shock of a man who sees clearly in a world of self-inflicted blindness. For how can we, who have mastered the atom and mapped the stars, forget the wisdom written in our own biology?

The meaning of his message is both practical and spiritual. Sleep is the great equalizer, the healer that asks for nothing but surrender. It humbles the proud and strengthens the weak. In its quiet embrace, the mind repairs itself, memories settle like dust into order, and the body renews its covenant with life. To scorn sleep is to scorn one’s own nature; to honor it is to walk in harmony with creation itself.

So let this teaching be carried forward like an old torch into the restless night: guard your sleep as you would guard your soul. When the sun falls, do not fight the darkness — welcome it as a friend. Set aside the devices that hum with false urgency. Make your bed a sanctuary, your rest a ritual. For in sleep, the warrior regains his strength, the thinker his clarity, and the heart its peace. Let the “stepsister” no longer stand in the cold; bring her to the table of health where she has always belonged.

And remember this wisdom: to rest is not to retreat, but to return — renewed, restored, and ready to live once more with strength, grace, and purpose.