F**k The 5 a.m. Club

When the pursuit of self-optimisation backfires.

I’ve always romanticised early-morning people. There’s something alluring about those quiet moments before the world wakes. Most people, I’ve learned, do it to steal some much-needed “me time” before a demanding job, toddler, or day hijacks their hours. Others, less romantically, have work schedules from hell that force them up that early. But by 8 a.m., these people have already achieved more in three hours than most of us manage all day—or so I assumed.

In April 2024, I decided I wanted to join the 5 a.m. club ranks. I wanted to become one of these superior beings. After a spree of lifestyle tweaks and endless self-optimisation—because where would my value be if I weren’t a well-oiled machine?—waking up before dawn felt like the next logical step. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

I read Robin Sharma’s infamous book. It wasn’t what I expected—following three characters through self-transformation to get the points across about how to seize your life and be your best self, complete with various exercises to help you organise your day. The lessons themselves are good, but here’s the kicker when it comes to getting up at 5 a.m.: if you can’t fall asleep, you’re, well… fucked, really.

Rise and Shine

They say new habits take time to form, but waking up at 5 a.m. wasn’t having the desired effect of making me fall asleep any earlier. For months I tried to will myself out of bed, following Sharma’s 20/20/20 rule—twenty minutes of exercise, twenty of reflection (journalling or meditating), and twenty of learning.

I’m not a terribly chill person, so even transitioning from one twenty-minute block to another without “losing time” stressed me out. God forbid I start my next “exercise” at 5:21 instead of 5:20. By the time I’d rolled out my duvet, brushed my teeth, and gotten dressed, it was 5:15. Not to worry—Sharma has a solution for that: get up even earlier. Of course.

For the exercise portion, I tried a full-body workout in my living room, but every time I raised my arms, I hit the chandelier I’d spent three hours assembling. So I became a runner, jogging along Lake Zürich instead.

There’s something magical about being up that early: the world feels like it’s yours for a while, and there’s an unspoken camaraderie between you and the few souls out at that hour. Zürich in its quiet morning glory is something else—the garbage men keeping the city spotless, the ducks bobbing half-asleep on the water, the soft light crawling across the lake. By the time I got home, I was on a high and naturally started investing in running gear—brave for someone with a funny knee (yes, it would eventually blow out).

By 9 a.m., I was close to my 10K steps and felt accomplished. Almost smugly so. Yes, you may have a career you love, a baby, and a loving husband, but I’m waking up at an ungodly hour and exercising immense discipline all in the name of self-optimisation. Take that, pleasure!

It would be cute if not for the fact that most days I was crashing by 11 a.m. Sometimes, after my twenty-minute run, I’d crawl back into bed before work, my body heavy with exhaustion. By the weekend, my body was screaming, “PLEASE LET ME SLEEP.” So I did—only to put it through the same cycle the next week.

Eventually, I adjusted my alarm to a more “reasonable” 5:45 a.m. Despite perfect sleep hygiene, I couldn’t fall asleep before 11 p.m. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I’d start worrying about not getting enough sleep—apparently, it’s called anticipatory anxiety. I was averaging six hours a night, well below the recommended seven to nine.

I did everything right: no phone an hour before bed, journalling, meditating, ear plugs, cool room, lavender oil, magnesium, eye mask, weighted blanket—you name it. My mind still whirred on.

In desperation, I cut caffeine completely (yes, even matcha). Hate to break it to you, but this really helps.

Eventually, I deviated from the 20/20/20 formula and adapted my morning routine to suit me. I hit the gym, did my weight training, showered, made breakfast and lunch, and biked to work. Meditation I saved for later in the day. By the time I got on my bike, it already felt like I’d lived a full day.

I posted about my new routine on Instagram—because that would surely hold me accountable. Friends and followers praised me, sharing their own early-morning motivations. The difference? They could actually fall asleep early. My co-workers and family applauded my “discipline.” But was it worth it?

Burnout

Nearly a year later, in May 2025, I hit burnout. I’m usually pretty attuned to my mental health, but I kept blaming everything except the obvious. Maybe I just needed to tweak my diet, refine my workout, and extend my morning routine into the weekend. I was willing to optimise anything rather than admit the truth: no amount of fine-tuning was going to make up for the fact that I felt deeply deprived of purpose.

Having a job, pursuing music, dating, training, eating right, maintaining an ironclad routine, and trying to have a social life—which, ironically, my routines were sabotaging—wiped me out. Add the usual life dramas and chronic sleep deprivation, and it’s no wonder I crashed.

I’d tried to optimise my way out of unhappiness, but instead, I optimised myself straight into exhaustion. I’d pushed my body like a project that could be perfected, but biology doesn’t care about discipline.

Know Thy Body

You need sleep. That’s not an opinion; that’s a fact.

Skimp on it and your body goes haywire: hormones misfire, cortisol (your stress hormone) spikes, cravings kick in, and your immune system throws in the towel. Over time, that kind of deprivation can mess with everything from your mood to your metabolism. (Healthline has a terrifyingly long list of side effects, if you need extra motivation.)

What I hadn’t realised was that this wasn’t just mental exhaustion—my body was waving a white flag.

In April 2024, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS)—a hormonal condition that messes with everything from your cycles to your energy levels. It explained my irregular periods, the stubborn chin hairs I kept tweezing, the fatigue, and why my body felt like it was moving through mud, no matter how hard I tried. PCOS experts say managing cortisol is vital—and I was doing the exact opposite.

At some point, you have to admit you’ve done everything you can. I’d dimmed the lights, lit the candles, rubbed lavender oil onto my temples, practised box breathing—anything to fall asleep earlier and get my eight hours before 5 a.m.—but nothing worked.

I started connecting the dots: my lack of sleep was wrecking me mentally and physically. I was doing all this to seem accomplished so that I could make up for parts of my life that weren’t fulfilling me, and chasing a title and a status that no one had ever asked me to pursue. It was time to just sleep.

The Positive Takeaways

I haven’t gotten up before 6 a.m. in three and a half months. The burnout, followed by a recent foot operation, meant I’ve just let my body rest. It’s a mental battle not to feel guilty for sleeping longer, but I’m reminding myself that shifting my routine by one or two hours really isn’t a crisis.

I’ve learned that I genuinely prefer working out in the morning—and that’s probably one of the best health choices I’ve made. Movement early in the day sets a tone for success and motivates me to be productive. Without it, I tend to feel sluggish and “blah.”

Lastly, when optimising and cleaning up most parts of my life still didn’t bring joy, I knew it was time to honour what I’ve always known: I want to pursue my creativity full-time. So, I quit my job.

Currently, I’m in a phase of adjustment—waking before 6 a.m. doesn’t work, but 7 a.m. feels too late. I’m slow in the mornings and find that leaving for the office I rent around 10 a.m. feels “late.” But then again, is it? Why am I so concerned with being there at a certain time? Why can’t it be enough that once I’m up, I stay disciplined with my routines—that it’s okay to just get there when I get there?

Most of us have been shaped by society’s definition of what a productive day looks like and how a productive person operates. Now that I’m fully in control of my time, I’m learning that these rigid structures—the ones I’ve never felt good in—aren’t mine to follow anymore.

I can make my own rules.

Waking before the world was exciting, and it was romantic. I haven’t sworn off the early hours forever, but for now, it’s a routine that hurts more than it helps. Until then, I’ll be busy romanticising flexible routines and personalising what self-optimisation means to me.

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