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I’ve been with my partner for two and a half years, but we only started regularly sharing a bed a few months ago. No, we didn’t suddenly reconcile after a dramatic sleep divorce, or at least not an intentional one: I’m just a heavy snorer dating a light sleeper, and for years that equation added up to me snoozing on the couch whenever I stayed over at their house. We tried noise-blocking earbuds, Breathe Right strips, and even mouth taping (I don’t doubt that it works for some people, but I felt like I was being kidnapped by the Joker), all to no avail—that is, until I finally acquiesced to my partner’s repeated request that I see a sleep doctor.
All it took was one night in my own bed, hooked up to a weird little device that measured my sleep, for my doctor to determine that I was suffering from sleep apnea and needed to wear a CPAP device to sleep. I was vaguely upset when I first got my diagnosis, mostly because I didn’t want to be forced to wear some giant, weird mask every night, but, let’s be honest, probably also because our still-fatphobic, ableist culture had convinced me it was a failure to need any kind of device-based assistance with my snoring (an ailment that is often associated with obesity, even though I snored long before I was fat.)
Once I got the CPAP machine in the mail, though, I was pleased to discover that it wasn’t some massive, unwieldy monstrosity that would take up half my nightstand; the whole thing fit inside a neat little gray suitcase, and it was so easy to assemble and disassemble that even I—the least handy person alive, just ask anyone who’s ever attempted to put together an IKEA item with me—could pack my sleep stuff up and haul it over to my partner’s place without issue. The device does require purified water to use, but that’s easy and cheap to acquire at any grocery store. Wearing a nasal mask attached to tubing at bedtime definitely took some getting used to, but almost four months into my CPAP journey, I’ve become an old pro. (What can I say, I’m very good at sleeping.)
My sleep doctor promised me I’d start feeling more energetic throughout the day if I used my CPAP for at least four hours a night most nights of the week, and so far he hasn’t been wrong. I feel more awake these days, but one CPAP benefit I wouldn’t have anticipated is the overall improved quality of my skin. I don’t know if the machine itself is directly responsible for my facial glow-up (although there is some evidence to suggest that treating sleep apnea can cut down on redness and puffiness), but using the CPAP at night has meant that I’ve had to switch to doing my skin-care routine in the morning since the oils in cosmetic products can be bad for the machine.
For someone who owns an upsetting amount of expensive skin creams, it’s crazy how little I actually used them back when I was still abiding by the “do all your skin care at night” rule. My skin-care shelf boasts everything from Everyday Oil to Moon Juice Plump Jelly to the elusive Sunday Riley Good Genes, but until I got my CPAP, I would mostly forget to spread any of those products over my skin at night, meaning I was basically letting hundreds of dollars worth of skin unguents gather dust on my bathroom counter. In theory, I liked the idea of unwinding with a long, luxurious skin-care routine followed by a bath and an incense-lit perusal of one of my favorite novels, but in actual practice, I was lucky if I could manage to dab my face with a hand towel before passing out in front of America’s Next Top Model reruns.
Now that I’m a CPAP bitch—as I like to call myself—though, my routine looks a little different. All I do at night is wash my face with my beloved Youth to the People cleanser, get into bed, pop my mask on, and sleep a full, usually blissful 8 to 10 hours. When I get up, that’s when the skin-care magic really happens. I apply my various oils and serums, making sure to only use my Good Genes cream once every week or so (it’s expensive, y’all !), then layer on a ridiculous amount of sunscreen appropriate only for living in LA or actually visiting the surface of the sun. I could have switched to being a morning skin-care girlie before I got a CPAP machine, but would I have? Sure, I sometimes miss falling randomly asleep on my Doritos-strewn laptop, but I wouldn’t trade the additional rest and cozy nighttime bonding with my partner that I’ve gotten from my CPAP (not to mention the increased glow in my skin that I’ve previously only obtained through chugging an ungodly amount of Hailey Bieber Erewhon smoothies) for anything.
