Still in the room

Sleepovers are an integral part of growing up. They are also, in some ways, an integral part of being a grown-up — but that’s a different narrative and one for another time.The term sleepover started being thrown around at about ten. (Nowadays they seem to happen much younger, which I find slightly strange.) It felt like the first initiation. The first time you had the freedom not to go to bed and to use the judgement of a ten-year-old to assess when you were tired.I’ll be honest — I wasn’t a huge fan.I liked being in my own home, with my family, where I could watch Baywatch, Blind Date and Gladiators uninterrupted. I liked lying amongst my 342 teddies and knowing that at around 2am my dad would swap places with me and I’d wake up in the king-size bed next to my mum.At ten, the main objective of a sleepover seemed to be seeing who could stay awake the longest and then drifting through the next day in a cloud of heady nausea.Of course, there were parts I loved.One night at my house, a group of us carefully selected a VHS recording of Dirty Dancing so we could fast-forward to the dancing scenes and attempt to copy the moves. Anyone who has seen me on a dance floor will understand this was not a failsafe way to learn.In fact, years later, in a small nightclub in Muswell Hill, I attempted the lift with one of my best friends. I took several steps back, gathered momentum and went for it. Unfortunately, he also took several steps back — probably to chat to a girl — and I leapt straight into the abyss. The next day I lay in pyjama shorts with two carefully placed packets of frozen peas balanced on my knees, unable to pull on trousers over the swollen mess my legs had become.The other kind of sleepover I didn’t mind was at my friend Fiona’s house, where we would listen to her one cassette tape of Jive Bunny and always arrange it during Children in Need so we could stay up and watch it on her tiny TV balanced on a shelf above her bed.The type I dreaded was when someone chose a horror film from Blockbuster.I loved a trip to Blockbuster with my dad and sister, but we never ventured into the horror section. I vividly remember the cover of Hellraiser - a face covered in needles and would give it a wide berth even when just walking past. But there was another cover, one far worse and one that still haunts me to this day.. long brown fingers and sharpened nails belonging to a clown named IT. A friend chose that one for her thirteenth birthday.I gave my mum strict instructions on drop off to explain I had an ear infection that meant I couldn’t watch the TV and would need to be collected by 8pm.I still had nightmares for years just thinking about that cover. My imagination has always been far worse than any film.Most sleepovers involved sleeping bags crammed onto the living room floor, creeping around for snacks, inevitably laughing, then diving back under covers as an exhausted parent’s footsteps descended the stairs to tell us to be quiet.I never liked being told off. An unfortunate early sign of people-pleasing, perhaps. Even then, I wanted to be the easy going, agreeable one.The other side of that meant I would always try to stay awake until the last few, despite loving sleep more than almost anything. It became a quiet battle with my eyelids. I’d offer the occasional “yeah” just to prove I was still there. Still in the room.I think sleepovers are where I first learned that leaving early could feel like failure.No one says it. But you feel it. The pride in being the last one standing. The quiet shame of being the first to go home.Looking back, they were probably my first experience of overriding myself.Staying when I wanted to leave.Laughing when I was exhausted.Pretending horror films didn’t bother me while planning my exit.And yet, even then, I knew what I liked.I liked my own bed and I loved sleep.It’s taken me a long time to realise that none of that makes me unsociable. It just makes me… me.These days, I still occasionally stay too long, it’s an ingrained habit that’s tough to shake.But I’m learning that it’s ok to leave when I’m ready.And always give me my own bed. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit toriecampbell.substack.com