How Productivity "Morning Routines" are Inherently Ableist

I am not a morning person. I have never been. But only recently did I realize it is primarily due to my disability. Even if I wanted to be a 6 a.m. early riser, I could not sustain it. My body needs the additional hours to rest and recuperate. I need about 10-12 hours of sleep a night. If I were to try to adhere to a 6 a.m. or even 7 a.m. wake-up time, that would mean going to bed just after dinner the night before. That is unrealistic for my desire to live a life that includes relaxation time, a social life or evening time with my husband and fur-son.

But before I go any further, let’s clarify how I define “morning person.” To me, being a morning person is someone who naturally enjoys waking up early (before 7 a.m.) and can be productive, cheerful and conversational. Even if they incorporate some quiet, meditative part of their morning routine, I assert that for a “morning person,” getting up early in the morning is an unforced part of their daily life.

The truth is, there are parts of me that wish I was a morning person. Early morning is a very productive time of the day. The world is still coming to life, so that gives time to get a jump on replying to emails, returning phone calls, or kickstarting some daily chores. I know on the rarest days when I can get up earlier than usual, I can capture some of this precious time and always feel happier and more productive for doing so. It’s just not something my health will allow me to sustain.

As someone who has been an organized “type-A” personality all my life, I’m easily susceptible to the lure of the “perfect morning routine.” I’ve dabbled in learning about and practicing some habits of the multi-billion dollar self-help/motivational/productivity industry. The problem, as I have come to realize, is that the principles of that industry are made by and for non-disabled people. It promotes habits, routines, goals and practices that are not made to accommodate the challenges or inabilities of disabled people and those with chronic illnesses. In short, it is often like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. It just doesn’t work.

And yet the lure of the “perfect morning routine” is intoxicating. Those who ascribe to the practice claim it will “solve all your problems” or “change your life for the better forever.” Somehow, they claim, these magic hours between 5 and 9 a.m. hold the secret to unlocking the most productive and happy life ever. At its face value, such promises seem ludicrous. And yet they exist, and they are tempting.

Even with all this awareness and understanding about morning routines, I fell back into the shame spiral of ableist expectations just a few months ago. I signed up for an online learning course with class hours beginning at 8 a.m. “I can do this,” I said to myself. “Why not? It’s just hours in the day. I will just go to bed earlier.” And in the first few weeks, that is what I did. But as time passed, like a snowball slowly growing down the side of a mountain, my health started to take a hit. I saw and felt what depriving my body of the rest it required was doing to it. This realization was hard on me physically and also mentally. It felt like I failed. For as much pride as I have in being disabled, it was a sobering reminder that I have to respect the limits of my body and not resent it for what it cannot do for me.

My inability to get up early and have a regular morning routine makes me feel like a failure. The reconciliation between what my mind wants and what my body can give requires thoughtful considerations of grace, patience and resilience. It also requires that I acknowledge that this shame I am feeling is rooted in very ableist ideas. I have no problem with the “morning routine” recipe for success for those for whom it works. What I have a problem with when the advice goes a step further and says “the only” way you will be able to achieve your dreams, goals, or ambitions is IF you do the same as they do.

I find the audacity of such a belief narrow-minded, arrogant, and non-inclusive. There are enough ways disabled people deal with ableism in their lives without adding the standards of a particular daily routine to the list.

As the story I shared above illustrates, being at peace with allowing my body the rest it needs is still something with which I sometimes struggle. It’s easy to fall into old emotional and mental traps—especially where my personal nexus of productivity and self-esteem exist. But slowly, I am coming to peace with my routine as a late-morning riser. I know my life and daily routine don’t have to be defined by a limited binary of a morning person vs. not a morning person.

These days I am making the most of the hours I am awake. The best part, which shouldn’t be overlooked, is I also feel better. Allowing my body the rest it needs makes the quality of the hours of the rest of my day so much better— and surprise!— more productive. When I stopped trying to force my body to go in a direction it wasn’t made for— and instead accommodated what it needed— it has allowed me to become more productive and sustainably positively in the long term.

I know that giving my body what it needs to be healthy is good self-care. I’ll never believe that self-care and accomplishing all of my goals and ambitions have to be mutually exclusive. As a disabled person I must remind myself of this and remain vigilant against ablest ideas and practices that make me, and all disabled people, feel less worthy or capable than we really are.