When Your Brain Dreams in Seconds: Micro-Sleep, Chronic Illness Fatigue, and the Strange Art of Rest

Have you ever nodded off for just a couple of seconds and still managed to have a dream vivid enough to make you question your grip on reality? If you haven’t, no worries, I’m apparently doing enough of it for the entire neighborhood. Living with chronic illnesses like sarcoidosis and heart failure means fatigue isn’t a stranger I see on holidays—it’s a roommate who has already claimed the good bathroom shelf. Some days, even when I’m not actively doing anything, the exhaustion washes over me like a sleepy tidal wave and I just… fold.

These little moments usually happen when I sit down and rest my face in my hands. I close my eyes for a heartbeat and suddenly I’m wandering through a familiar street in Trinidad or planning a five-course menu with ingredients that don’t exist on Earth. Then I snap back, upright, blinking at my disappointed dog, who doesn’t understand why we aren’t currently on a walk. It feels like minutes have passed, but according to the clock, it’s been four seconds. My wife doesn’t even bother asking anymore. She just waits for me to reboot like a stubborn laptop.

Science actually has a name for this bizarre phenomenon: micro-sleep. When fatigue levels climb high—especially with conditions that affect the lungs and heart—the brain can abruptly drop into a momentary sleep state. It’s involuntary, like when you sneeze in public and instantly ruin all social credibility. These micro-dreams often appear during the transition into sleep, a state where the brain blends memory, stress, creativity, and random visual scraps into short, vivid bursts. It’s strange, but neurologists suggest it’s the brain’s way of processing overload, reorganizing information, and giving your overworked neural circuits a pit stop.

For people with sarcoidosis, persistent fatigue is one of the most reported symptoms. Even when inflammation is controlled, energy can evaporate for reasons researchers are still teasing apart. Add heart failure into the mix, which already reduces how effectively oxygen circulates, and fatigue makes perfect sense. In short: the body whispers “rest,” the brain whispers “now,” and your eyelids comply faster than Amazon Prime.

As a private chef, you’d think I’d be used to stress and exhaustion. But unlike the kitchen, life doesn’t let you label fatigue clearly in bright masking tape. When I’m not cooking, I’m writing my first novel, rehearsing conversations with my dog, or attempting Sudoku as if I understand numbers. And somewhere in between, micro-sleep finds its way in.

I’ve started paying attention to these tiny dreams. They’re oddly revealing. Sometimes they’re nostalgic: childhood alleyways, the shock of cold river water, panicked priests trying to control an all-boys school. Other times they’re creative: plot twists, scene ideas, menus, the strange urge to write about a lobster that solves crimes. It’s like my brain has a backup writer’s room staffed by chaotic actors improvising without supervision.

Psychologists believe dreams—yes, even short ones—help us process emotions, rehearse memories, and regulate stress. Micro-dreams may be smaller versions of that same tool. They show us fragments we’re not consciously looking at: the places we miss, the stress we ignore, the creative well we didn’t realize was filling. I’ve learned not to fight them. When they hit, it’s usually because I’m overdue for a pause.

So now, instead of powering through like a stubborn chef prepping a banquet alone, I lean into these quick mental vacations. When I open my eyes, I try to catch whatever I saw. It’s surprising how much meaning can fit into a few seconds of brain-cinema. Maybe your brain is smarter than your schedule. Maybe these weird moments are your body’s patch update.

And if you experience anything similar—especially while living with chronic illness—know that you’re not alone. Your body isn’t betraying you; it’s protecting you, keeping you safe and functioning. Sometimes survival looks dramatic and cinematic. Sometimes it looks like nodding off for three seconds and dreaming about a turquoise horse.

Next time it happens, don’t panic. Notice what your brain is showing you. It might be nostalgia, creativity, or simply a reminder to breathe, slow down, and be gentle with yourself. Life has a way of demanding we sprint. Micro-sleep reminds us we’re allowed to sit.

If this resonated with you, or if you’ve had your own strange mini-dream experiences, share them in the comments or subscribe for more stories from the kitchen, the page, and the unpredictable world of chronic illness. Let’s dream together—even if only for a second.