In spring 2024, and again in early 2026, I spent 48 hours awake. While each time was different, both experiences taught me valuable information about how my body handles stress and its ability to function through serious sleep deprivation.
Both instances were accidental. The first time I ended up staying awake for 48 hours was during my senior trip to Disneyland before I graduated from high school. We left Monterey Bay at 1:00 AM, and I was up late the night before getting all my homework done and preparing for the trip, so while I briefly laid in bed, I never fell asleep. For those counting, the 48-hour clock started at 6:00 AM the morning before the trip, when I woke up for school.
I have seldom been the type of person who can sleep in cars or on buses or airplanes. That meant, as tired as I was, I spent the seven-hour bus ride to Anaheim awake, even in the dim lighting and dead silence as everyone else slept. Believe me, I tried to sleep, but only ever managed a sort of half-consciousness that refused to leave me any more rested than when I began. The result was that I arrived in Disneyland, with a full day of walking around in the sun ahead of me, already 24-hours sleep-deprived.
To my surprise, however, I never experienced any fatigue throughout our time in the park. If anything, I was more energized than some of my more rested friends. What was going on here? Was the adrenaline of being in Disneyland with all my classmates really enough to sustain me for 14 hours?
My empirical conclusion is: yes—yes, it was.
At some point, my brain decided to ignore the exhaustion slowly setting in and enjoy the once-in-a-lifetime experience before me. I lasted the whole day: standing in line, walking back and forth across the park, playing Heads-up with my friends as we waited to begin our last ride of the day, going on rollercoaster after rollercoaster—and even the bus ride back, where, again, permanent sleep eluded me. By the time we arrived at our high school at 5:00 AM, I drove myself home (yes, I drove), and made it to bed, I had been awake for 48 hours.
I’ll admit, I was proud of myself. I have yet to pull an all-nighter for academic reasons (though I’ve certainly stayed up studying until dawn), this Disneyland trip was the first of two times I functioned normally through a significant lack of sleep. I remained awake while everyone else slept; yet I persevered through the day better than some others, never even feeling my fatigue. Amazed at my body’s capacity to push away sleep signals when sleep was not an option, I also now—perhaps more importantly—trusted my ability to regulate my emotions under the stress of sleep deprivation. I never grew snappy, irritable, or frustrated with those around me; I continued to behave in a friendly and energetic way with my classmates, and that trip is still one of my fondest memories. Lack of sleep apparently played no role in my experience of the trip.
The second time I remained awake for 48 hours was, unfortunately, significantly less fun. Heading into Winter Quarter 2026 at Cal Poly, after a New Years’ trip with my boyfriend and his family, I found myself up the entire evening before our 5:00 AM flight back to my hometown, dealing with some difficult emotions. To make matters worse, we arrived at the airport closer to our boarding time than I was comfortable with, leading to a stressful wait in the security line of Portland International Airport. Already on edge and without sleep for 24 hours, I found myself hoping I could snag a few-hour snooze on the plane before I had to drive from my hometown back to San Luis Obispo.
If you’re paying attention, you’ll remember I mentioned a few paragraphs ago that I cannot sleep on planes. This trip, unfortunately, was no exception.
We landed in my hometown, my parents picked us up and took us to my car, where we got on the road to San Luis Obispo—a short, easy drive, but one whose monotony was notoriously lulling. My boyfriend, also tired, was understandably not super talkative, leaving me mostly alone with my thoughts about the stress and exhaustion of the last approximately 40 hours. By the time we arrived at my boyfriend’s friend’s house, where we agreed to have dinner, I needed a release: the combination of stress, exhaustion, and period hormones culminated in a short cry before I could bring myself to go inside for dinner.
I left dinner early to begin my on-call shift as a Resident Advisor for the freshman dorms, which meant I had to stay awake enough to conduct exterior and interior safety walks until midnight, when I could finally go to bed and stop the 48-hour stopwatch.
This second time of sleep deprivation was considerably harder than the first; though what I remember is not so much the physical fatigue as the emotional fatigue from the stress I’d been carrying prior to the lack of sleep. Like last time, I completed all my tasks without sacrificing work quality, but I felt the emotional strain. What I learned from this time around was that my first experience staying awake for 48 hours was enabled by the excitement and adrenaline of Disneyland, as opposed to the stress of plane flights, dinner plans, and an unpredictable job. I still reassured myself that I had “successfully” gone two days without sleep once again, but, looking back, I hit a breaking point in my emotional regulation this time, requiring me to reset before I continued with my day.
Both of these experiences together taught me that mindset matters most when I’m in need of sleep. Adrenaline is one of the most powerful human mechanisms for accomplishment; positively-filled adrenaline is even more powerful. That energy is what made the difference at Disneyland versus on the plane. I was excited, I genuinely wanted to stay awake. Telling myself that—even subconsciously—worked wonders, and is something I will carry with me going forward whenever I am exhausted (no matter how many hours of sleep I’m running on).