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A Garden of Sleep: Tracking the Emotional Distance Between Two Bedtimes

by Or Misgav

For the past six months, my husband and I haven’t gone to sleep at the same time.

We both work full-time and raise two young children, so our evenings are the only moments left for connection. He is the hardest-working person I know—relentless in chasing a dream that has recently taken shape as a tech startup. His quietest, most productive hours begin when the kids sleep. I, on the other hand, go to bed alone.

A text conversation between husband and wife. The incoming message says, "Good Night, Love" with a kissing emoji. The outgoing text says, "Coming to bed now xx"
Image credit: Or Misgav

At first, I texted him, “Good night.” He would reply hours later, sometimes with a simple “coming to bed now.” But after two months, I realised something: I had data. It’s not formal, tidy data- casual timestamps, scattered messages, and a discernible pattern.

So, I started tracking it deliberately. A spreadsheet. One column for the time I went to sleep, one for him. If I forgot to log it, I would ask him in the morning: “When did you come to bed?” He always knew I was tracking his bedtime time. It comforts me. Data gives shape to ambiguity. It holds stories quietly, waiting to be told.

A bar chart which details the time in which wife and husband went to bed at different times.
Image credit: Or Misgav

There is a particular calm that comes with collecting data. For me, it is a form of emotional processing. Tracking our sleep was something small I could hold onto. A private system of meaning. Each entry felt like a whisper to myself: “You are paying attention”.

As the dataset grew, so did the emotional tension. We argued. Not because I didn’t support him, but because I missed him. Missed us. One night, I added a third column: fights. Eventually, a pattern emerged. We always argued at the start of the week after the weekend reset. I brought it up, along with the spreadsheet, and together, we coined the Sunday-In-Sync Rule. Once a week, we would meet in the middle. He would wrap up earlier, and I would stay up later—a small act of reconnection in a sea of drift.

At one point, I realised that the actual times we went to sleep didn’t matter as much as I thought. What mattered was the delta—the difference between them. That delta became the emotional signal, more about how far apart we were. From that moment on, I shifted my perspective on the data and how I wanted to visualise it. Each petal would represent a single day. My sleep time became the baseline. His would be expressed as a distance—the space between us.

Image credit: Or Misgav

Five months in, the dataset had become too complex to keep in rows and columns. I started sketching. One flower for each week. Some flowers bloomed, representing nights spent together, even if late. Some wilted, marking long gaps between bedtimes. A visual garden of our sleep patterns emerged. A bouquet of data is carefully drawn.

Image credit: Or Misgav

Why flowers? Because they are the most classic romantic gesture. A universal symbol of affection, apology, and devotion. I was not just visualising data; I was creating a love letter. One that said, “I see you. I miss you. I’m with you”. Presenting the data as a bouquet felt right. It framed the tension with tenderness.

Image credit: Or Misgav

Drawing it brought another kind of clarity. Unlike the spreadsheet, which was linear and clinical, the floral format made space for nuance and softness. It became a way to honour the emotional weight of these minor, repetitive, daily differences. A quiet ritual that helped me come to terms with what I could not control.

Image credit: Or Misgav

When I showed him the finished visual, he was speechless. Then smiling. Then laughing. He told me I was the most supportive wife he could ask for. Later, I found out he had shared the piece with his friends. That meant everything to me. He saw what I saw.

Is it a visual love letter? A quiet protest? Maybe both.

What I know is this: in tracking our distance, I found a way to feel closer. I supported him in silence, witnessed his effort, and honoured the rhythm of our parallel dreams.

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Or is a critical thinker and an enthusiastic datavis designer. She sees data and patterns in everyday life and is focused on making a clear statement using visuals. Recently, she finished a Masters in Research with distinction from the University of Portsmouth, UK. She is currently looking for PhD opportunities.

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