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There is a quiet that belongs only to the hours before dawn — a hush that feels like permission to breathe, to remember, and to begin again. Rising at 3am has become more than a habit for me; it is a deliberate act of care, a small reclaiming of time that grief once threatened to steal. I start before the sun.

Morning Ritual at 3am

Waking while the world is still wrapped in dark is a practice of intention. My alarm at 3am is not an intrusion but an invitation: to step into a space that is mine alone. In fact, my body automatically wakes up! In those first minutes I move slowly, honoring the body that carries me and the mind that needs gentleness. The early hour gives me room to set the tone for the day without the noise of other people’s stuff.. schedules, notifications, or expectations.

Meditation to Ground Me

My morning begins with meditation — a quiet, steadying anchor. I sit with a YouTube powerful prayer that is usually picked randomly. I breath and try letting the edges of the day soften before I ask anything of myself. This grounding practice is everything, again and again. In the stillness I look out my window and see darkness but find clarity, a steadier heart, and a compassionate witness to whatever thoughts arise. That calm becomes the foundation for everything that follows.

Working on Tasks That Energize Me

After grounding, I turn to work that energizes me — the projects that make time feel expansive rather than draining. These are the tasks that light a small fire inside: writing, planning, creating, or solving a problem that matters. Because the world is quiet, my focus is sharper and interruptions are rare. The result is a sense of flow and purpose that carries me through the day.

The Importance of a Most Productive Time

Everyone has a time of day when they are most productive. For me, that window is the early morning. Protecting that time is an act of self-respect. When you identify and guard your most productive hours, you give your best work the best conditions to flourish.

Grief, Loss, and the Value of Time

Grief changes how you measure time. Losing my son to suicide shifted the way I enter each day — it made the ordinary extraordinary and the ordinary fragile. Time no longer feels infinite; it feels precious and precarious. That loss taught me to treat mornings as a gift, not a given. Each sunrise I witness is a quiet answer to the question of how I will show up: with intention, with tenderness, and with the awareness that every small moment matters.

How Loss Changed My Mornings

Before grief, mornings were often rushed or taken for granted. After losing my son, I learned to slow down and to honor the small rituals that keep me steady. Rising before the sun became a way to hold space for memory and for possibility — to carry his presence into the day without letting it consume me. The early hours allow me to remember him with love, to tend to my own needs, and to choose how I will move forward, one deliberate step at a time.

Why this is important to know?

Starting before the sun is both a practical choice and a spiritual practice. It is a way to protect the hours when I am clearest, to ground myself in meditation, and to do work that fuels me. It is also a response to loss — a way to honor what was taken and to make room for what remains. If grief has taught me anything, it is this: time is the most honest teacher we have. How we enter each day matters. I start before the sun.