Sundays

Sundays are hard.

Sundays are typically the day I like to stay inside. They are my break from a busy week. They are my escape from the world of conflict and fear and people, which might sound awful but it’s true. On Sundays, I get to sleep late. I get to lay in bed. I get to be lazy.

Sundays are my chance to catch up with the chores I’ve fallen behind on and prepare for what is up ahead. On Sundays, I might put away laundry or dust my furniture or finally sit down to write a post. Today, for example, I rummaged through my closet again to rid myself of clothes that I don’t wear. I might pack a week’s worth of lunches or pick out clothes or make a list of what I’d like to get done for the week. I just did that last one about five minutes ago

I have to make lists, in lots of bright colors, because Sundays are also a time of mounting anxiety and stress. Sundays mean that my time without pressure and expectations is about to come to end because there’s a whole week of crap flying at me and it’s about to hit me in the face. Hence, the lists. It’s about the only way to feel like I’ve got any form of control.

The problem is that it feels so overwhelming. I really need to learn to stop time traveling, because if I could be more mindful than I could keep from being overloaded with every scary thing I’ve got waiting for me this week. I might be able to appreciate the rest time, really enjoy it, instead of worrying about running a referral meeting, testing a child who will likely prove untestable, getting through my counseling group, and getting my car dropped off for inspection.

I know that once I get going, once I’m in these situations, I will feel okay. At least, I know I will survive it. Everything is okay once you get started, once you’re moving. But until then, I just live with the anticipation, dreading everything that is coming.

Waiting is the worst. Sundays are always about waiting.

I almost wish that I didn’t get the break that a weekend provides me, because if I didn’t have to stop moving, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to get going on a Monday. It’s like when you are on your feet all day and don’t realize how tired you are, how much your feet hurt, until you take a moment to sit down. You’d have been better off just pushing through.

Weekends are the equivalent to sitting down for me.

I had a moment of overwhelming stress and panic today, because I knew the clock was ticking down on my free time. Tick, tock. Tomorrow, it will be Monday. Tick, tock.
I will be out in the world, subject to the extreme feelings and the irrational thoughts that come my way from interacting with others and taking risks. I can’t stop that from happening. Tick, tock.

I wanted to hurt myself in that moment, but I didn’t. I did other things that were more productive, kinder. Celebratory points awarded to me for that. J will be proud. I’m proud. But I still have a major case of the Sundays.

I’m trying to focus on this moment, the only one I can control, but I’m an avid time-traveler. It’s hard to shake that habit off. Tick tock.

Like I said, Sundays are hard.