Smaller houses and apartments don’t stop many Japanese couples from sleeping in different beds or even rooms. This is not some kind of an intimate issue or problem with the relationship, but something that they believe is good for them.
We at Bright Side found out why married couples in Japan choose to sleep separately, and we really like their reasons.
They have different sleep schedules.
The first thing that makes Japanese couples decide to go to bed separately is different work schedules. Waking up your significant other just because you got home late from work or have to leave early won’t result in good quality rest for them. This is why spending the night in a different room makes sense. This will give them both an undisturbed and healthier sleep.
Babies sleep with their mothers.
Japanese mothers sleep with their children and this is considered very important, so the father needs to decide if he wants to share the same bed or go to a different room. Even science has proven that co-sleeping can help parents and children get a more restful sleep. It helps the child to maintain a stable temperature and heart rate (which is really critical in infancy) and at the same time, it decreases the chance of sudden infant death syndrome. Also, this contributes to the child having better self-esteem, becoming independent faster, and doing great in school.
For them, sleeping separately means peace.
While many couples who start to sleep alone think that divorce is at their door, the Japanese see it differently. They value their sleep a lot and they don’t want to be disturbed while sleeping. This means that they don’t need and don’t like to put up with snoring, restless sleep, kicking, etc. Even though some don’t have the opportunity to sleep in different rooms, they still wish they could get their beauty sleep.
Couples have a history of sleeping separately.
Futons are filled with cotton, which provides support and comfort. In the past, only single sized ones were used as beds. So, even if you wanted to cuddle up with your loved one, you would have ended up between the sheets, on the cold floor, and you wouldn’t feel comfortable. Today there are families that still use this type of bedding, especially because it doesn’t take up a lot of space and it is easy to store.
Do you sleep separately from your partner? Do you think this type of practice might be even better for your relationship?
MY DAUGHTER TOLD ME I WAS TOO OLD AND PATHETIC WHEN I SHARED A PHOTO FROM MY FIRST DANCE CLASS.
The Dance of Dreams
At 70 years old, I decided to step into a dance studio, my heart fluttering with anticipation. The polished wooden floor seemed to beckon me, whispering promises of grace and rhythm. It was time to fulfill my lifelong dream—to dance.
My daughter, however, had a different perspective. When I shared a photo from my first dance class, she scoffed, “Mom, you look pathetic trying to dance at your age. Just give it up.”
Her words stung, like a sharp needle piercing my fragile bubble of enthusiasm. But I refused to let them deflate my spirit. I had spent decades nurturing her dreams, ensuring she never had to abandon them. Now, it was my turn.
I looked into her eyes, my voice steady, “Sweetheart, I’ve spent a lifetime supporting you. I’ve cheered you on during your piano recitals, soccer games, and college applications. I’ve been your rock, your unwavering cheerleader. But now, as I chase my own dream, you criticize me?”
She shifted uncomfortably, realizing the weight of her words. Perhaps she hadn’t considered the sacrifices I’d made—the dreams I’d tucked away while raising her. The music swirled around us, a gentle waltz, and I took her hand.
“Dancing isn’t just about moving your feet,” I said. “It’s about feeling alive, connecting with the rhythm of life. And age? Well, that’s just a number. My heart still beats to the same tempo as when I was twenty.”
We danced then, awkwardly at first, but with growing confidence. The mirror reflected two generations—one hesitant, the other determined. The studio walls absorbed our laughter, our missteps, and our shared joy.
As the weeks passed, my body ached, but my soul soared. I pirouetted through memories, twirling with the ghosts of forgotten dreams. The other dancers—mostly young and lithe—accepted me into their fold. They admired my tenacity, my refusal to be labeled “pathetic.”
One evening, after class, my daughter approached me. Her eyes were softer, her tone apologetic. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. You’re amazing out there.”
I hugged her tightly. “Thank you, sweetheart. But remember, dreams don’t have an expiration date. They’re like music—timeless, waiting for us to step onto the dance floor.”
And so, I continued my dance. The studio became my sanctuary, the music my lifeline. I swayed, leaped, and spun, defying the constraints of age. My daughter watched, sometimes joining me, her steps tentative but willing.
One day, she whispered, “Mom, I want to learn too. Teach me.”
And so, side by side, we waltzed through life—the old and the young, the dreamer and the believer. Our laughter echoed, filling the room, as we chased our dreams together.
In that dance studio, age dissolved, leaving only the rhythm of our hearts—a testament to the resilience of dreams, the power of determination, and the beauty of shared passion.
And as the music played, I realized: It was never too late to dance. 🎶💃🌟
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