Sleeping Through the Shame
I’ve got a secret that I’ve been hiding. I’ve avoided talking about this topic, especially with friends or family. I’ll avoid mentioning it at all costs — because, somewhere deep down, I have deeply internalized the shame around this topic.
But here’s the thing: it’s not something to be ashamed of.
And I’m tired — literally and figuratively — of pretending otherwise.
It’s time to talk about sleep apnea, CPAP machines, the shame, and the assumptions we make about who “needs” support. And yes — I’ll be sharing my own story too.
CPAPs Are Incredibly Common
Millions of people use CPAP machines every single night. According to the American Academy of Sleep Medicine, about 8 million Americans use CPAPs — and that's just the number officially recorded. There are probably many more when I think of the number of people who have either avoided getting diagnosed, the number of people who may not have access to this equipment, and those who simply struggle to use their machine for various reasons.
CPAPs are a tool for health, not a marker of failure. Using a CPAP isn’t a sign that you’re broken — it’s a sign that you care enough about your body to give it the support it needs.
The Shame and the Stereotypes
But when you live in a larger body, the story you’ve been told your whole life is different. You’re taught that your size is a failure. That if you just worked harder, ate cleaner, lost weight, you wouldn’t “need” help. So when something like a CPAP enters the picture, it doesn’t just feel like managing a health condition — it feels like another confirmation of everything diet culture has spent years whispering in your ear:
"See? If you were thinner, you wouldn’t need this."
"This is your fault."
It’s not true. But it’s so deeply ingrained that even using a life-saving tool like a CPAP can trigger old fears. It pulls the focus back to weight, back to control, back to the exhausting belief that if you just shrunk yourself enough, you could somehow outrun your body’s needs.
The truth is, needing support isn’t proof of failure. It’s proof of humanity.
And your body — exactly as it is today — is still worthy of care, support, and rest.
The truth is all different size bodies have sleep apnea and need a CPAP.
Team CPAP Unite
Just this week, I saw a clip from Amy Poehler’s podcast where she and Jack Black high-five over their CPAPs. (Team CPAP Unite, indeed.) It’s a perfect reminder that normalizing these kinds of devices — laughing about them, talking about them, not hiding them — matters more than we think. Watch it below.
When I saw that clip of Amy Poehler and Jack Black talking about their CPAPs with no shame and even some pride, I thought, ‘I wanna high five them too. I want in on CPAP Team Unite.’ So here I am, joining the team.
My Story
I found out I needed a CPAP the way a lot of people do: after years of ignoring the signs (I’ve been a snorer most of my life) and putting off doctor visits because, frankly, I didn’t want to deal with the weight stigma I knew I’d face.
Eventually, somewhere during the height of COVID, I finally went to the doctor, mainly because I was afraid that if I got COVID and I needed medical support, I had nowhere to turn to. Luckily, I have been able to work with a kind, weight-inclusive doctor who has supported me in a way I never thought would be possible.
After describing my sleep, I got a home sleep study (bless the home study; I don’t think I could have handled trying to sleep in a sterile lab with wires stuck all over me), and the results were clear: I had severe sleep apnea with numerous “events” each night. (An “event” is when the apnea causes someone to stop breathing.) Quite literally, I wasn’t breathing adequately at all during the night. It was clear that I needed to get a CPAP, and so I started that process.
When I first got my CPAP machine home, it was a weird mix of feelings. Part of me was relieved—excited, even—at the idea of finally getting real, restful sleep. I think my partner was also feeling the same because she didn’t have to hear me snore at night, but also how scary it must have been to hear me struggle to breathe each night.
But another part of me, the louder part at the time, was filled with shame. I hated the idea of being someone who needed a machine to sleep. I hated wearing the mask. I REALLY hated being seen wearing the mask.
Even though I knew the CPAP was helping me — even though I felt the difference when I used it — I still fought it. For a long time, I’d fall asleep without putting the mask on. Then, like clockwork, I’d wake up gasping for air and grudgingly strap it on. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to breathe — it was that I felt such shame for having to wear the mask.
I didn’t hide the machine itself, but I didn’t talk about it either. I kept it out of conversations with family and friends, tucked it away like it was some embarrassing secret. Which is ridiculous, when I think about it now.
You know what’s even more ridiculous? Every time I fly, I bring my CPAP as a carry-on (medical equipment flies free, baby), and when I look around the airport, I see so many people hauling the exact same little black CPAP bag. There’s an entire secret society of CPAP users walking among us — and yet, somehow, we’re all still convinced we’re the only ones.
Here I am, saying it out loud: I use a CPAP. It helps me sleep. I’m still working on not feeling weird about it. I still hate wearing a mask. I still hate having folks see me wear the mask. But I’m also tired of hiding.
And if you’re someone who also uses a CPAP — or any device that helps you live your life more fully — maybe this is your reminder, too:
Your body deserves support. You are not broken. You are not a failure. You are human.
And you deserve a good night’s sleep.
Why I'm Sharing This Now
We don’t talk enough about the emotional side of using medical devices. We act as if something helps us; we should just be grateful and move on — no room for complicated feelings like embarrassment or grief. But it’s complicated because we’re complicated.
Using a CPAP hasn’t just made me sleep better — it’s made me think differently about what it means to care for my body, even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable.
It’s made me realize that "support" doesn’t mean "failure."
So I’m trying to be more open about it — with my family, with my clients, and now here.
Because the more we talk about it, the less shame there is.
And maybe, just maybe, the next person who gets fitted for a CPAP won’t feel like they have to hide it.
If you use a CPAP (or another medical device) and want to share your story, I'd love to hear it. Hit reply or leave a comment below.
Thank you so much for posting this. I, too, put off getting diagnosed with sleep apnea for so many years because of the ill begotten
association with being fat. I'm so glad I finally broke through the shame and got on Team CPAP. It literally saved my life.
I’m surprised there aren’t more comments here! I’ve been using a CPAP machine since 2017. I, too, did my best to avoid it. And I had been sleeping alone for years, so there was nobody to tell me that I was snoring, until I shared a hotel suite with my sisters. I don’t think I had been a snorer when I was married for 18 years. My husband, though, did have symptoms of sleep apnea. He didn’t live in a large body, and my body was not as large then as it is now. So, first thing I did was to get a sleep app on my phone which recorded snoring. Once I could hear it for myself, I knew I needed help. I tried using a sort of retainer prescribed by a dentist, but it didn’t help. I inquired about the device that could be surgically implanted, but the ENT doc that I consulted about it said I was not a good candidate. I just hated the idea of wearing that ugly elephant mask, in case someday I did find someone I wanted to sleep with. It’s such an unsexy thing. But finally, after a sleep study in a lab that was required by Kaiser, I conceded that I needed to use a CPAP. I never had trouble with sleepy days, but I needed the reassurance of knowing I was breathing well when I was sleeping. Lately I do sometimes fall asleep before I put on my mask, or wake up, take it off, and fall back asleep again without being completely aware of what happened. I do take a sleeping med, and now, after being hospitalized for pneumonia back in 2023, I also use oxygen at night. My mother needed oxygen at night when she got older. Plus, I live at a pretty high altitude. The need for oxygen makes sleeping away from home more complicated. I’m 71 now. So that’s my story!