Sundays always remind me of the promises I made to myself once the work day is done on Friday afternoons.
On Fridays, I set all these goals for myself for the weekend. To clean, To do laundry, to prep meals.
None of it ever happens.
I get lost in stories. Consume the words of poets who speak of love, death and the in between. The words vibrate off the page and I find myself relishing in these quiet moments for hours on end.
Then it’s Sunday again and I begin to panic that I “got nothing done”.
Though the reality is I tended to myself the whole weekend. I “did nothing”, but that nothing is what I needed.
I nourished my body. I tended to my soul that feels heavy amidst the changes around me.
To give myself the tenderness and attention I so freely give to others is a gift – and to give myself such love back over and over is what keeps me grounded.
I believe as humans we get so stuck on the idea of needing to “do something” – we have been indoctrinated in the capitalist machine where we think we must be productive in order to feel valued or even loved.
We have placed value on productivity that the anxiety and guilt creeps in when we are doing nothing.
It’s disheartening to feel that way.
These days, I am actively choosing to read books, dance around my kitchen and find more stillness and quiet in my days. I can afford to right now and I will continue to nurture the parts of myself that need tending to.
The laundry will eventually get done, but my emotional and physical health will always come first. I cannot pour from an empty cup.
I must keep my cup brimming with delicate words, soft movements and the caress of the soft music flowing through my space.
My heart is tender and there is no one else that can fill the empty spaces but myself and that knowledge is a salve to the aches I feel.
So, I will keep soaking up the quiet moments and doing nothing. I can feel myself carving out a new space for me to grow like a whisper upon my skin – soft and not fully formed.
And I am at peace with my decisions.
Enjoy your Sunday.