Monday, Bloody Monday
Mondays.
Mon Dieu! as they say in Paris.
(A place I’ve never lived, but it felt appropriate.)
Every time Monday rolls around, it’s like someone cranked up the gravity.
Heavier.
Slower.
A little unkind.
I’ve thought about it and, no - It’s not because I hate my job.
I’m one of the lucky ones. My work is aligned with who I am and
I don’t dread showing up.
But still…
Monday has a feeling.
A low-level buzz in my nervous system.
It’s like jumping into a cold pool without taking a breath first.
Like committing to something before knowing the scope, or whether I have the capacity to hold it.
My body knows. It always does.
And it starts in early.
The Pit
Somewhere between brushing my teeth and the first scan of my inbox, I feel it.
A small pit in my belly.
Nothing loud or dramatic.
Just there.
Familiar.
Persistent.
It’s not fear.
Not exactly dread.
But it’s not nothing, either.
It’s that old energetic pattern that shows up before the rest of me does.
I see it as a signal.
A checkpoint.
Noticing it is the first act of kindness I offer myself.
The Nervous System Remembers
I’m more and more convinced:
My nervous system remembers everything.
Even when I don’t.
It remembers the years I spent grinding, producing, proving.
It remembers the Sunday night tightness.
The late-night dread for jobs that didn’t fit.
The exhaustion that comes from a life of being helpful on the outside and completely disconnected on the inside.
Even now, with a calendar I mostly chose,
in work that I mostly love,
my system still braces.
Because healing doesn’t erase the imprint.
It just shifts my relationship to it.
I Don't Hate Mondays.
And honestly?
It’s not about hating Mondays.
It’s about how much pretending Mondays used to require.
Pretending to be motivated.
Pretending to be “on.”
Pretending that I wasn’t still carrying a whole weekend of emotional residue in my shoulders.
Even now, I sometimes catch myself throwing on the “regulated adult” costume
while some quiet part of me is whispering,
“Hey... can we just be real for a second?”
The Performance of Regulation™
There’s this unspoken expectation—especially in helping/healing professions—to model wellness.
To show up well-rested, well-adjusted, and emotionally laminated.
To be a walking brochure for nervous system health.
And then there’s the truth:
Sometimes, regulation looks like resistance.
Like slowing down.
Like coolness in the face of urgency.
Like saying no, even when you technically could say yes.
Sometimes, regulation is saying,
“I don’t have it in me today. And that’s not a flaw in my system—it’s a sign of intelligence.”
My Monday Ritual (Or Lack Thereof)
I’ve tried building rituals around Mondays.
Some of them stuck. Most didn’t.
What I’ve landed on is more like a check-in than a ritual.
I practice first thing in the morning, and
It goes something like this:
I sit.
I breathe.
I ask: “How am I today?”
Not how should I be.
Not what’s on the calendar.
Just… how am I, for real?
Some days, the answer is grounded.
Some days, it’s tired.
Some days, it’s quietly sad for no obvious reason.
Whatever shows up, I try not to explain it away.
I try not to create a positive spin..
I just stay with it until intuition says otherwise. .
Letting my breath dictate the pace.
Letting my state of being decide what can wait.
There are still bills to pay.
People to support.
Deadlines to meet.
But I’ve learned to make room for both truths:
I can do what needs to be done…
and still be gentle with how I do it.
Some Mondays Aren’t Ideal
Let me not romanticize this.
Some Mondays still feel harsh.
Some Mondays I forget to check-in with myself.
I override.
I push.
I pretend.
And that’s okay too.
I’m not building a perfect rhythm—I’m building relationship.
With myself.
With my system..
With the life I’ve chosen.
This is a glimpse of my self-care..
🌀 Resonance Prompt
What does your body know about Mondays that your calendar doesn’t?
What if you let that understanding dictate your approach? How would that look/feel?