This blog accompanies the podcast episode below!
Sunday night is the absolute worst. Usually, my Sunday evenings consist of a mountain of dishes, no groceries, dirty floors, and me – unshowered and in the same sweatpants I put on Friday.
It’s not super glamorous.
When I recorded “Sunday Scaries,” it was actually a Sunday night and I was using recording as a way to avoid my list of to-dos that I had put off the entire weekend. To be fair, meal prepping is incredibly boring and I never have enough clean tupperware to last me the whole week. Is that my fault? Maybe. Mostly. It is. But why can other people not keep up with their household and they are completely fine?
*Please note that some sad violins are playing in the background when I ask this, and I’m usually three glasses deep into a bottle of Merlot.
I think sometimes I feel like I have to blob, otherwise I haven’t properly enjoyed my weekend. When else do I get to just sit on the couch? Does it matter that it makes me miserable? No, because I’m going to do my weekend.
So, as you can see, I’ve created a vicious routine for myself.
I wish I was one of those people that had a helpful anxious habit. If every time I got stressed I had the urge to clean dishes, that would be fabulous. Or, if each time I felt a panic attack coming on, I felt like doing a forty-five minute HITT workout instead, that would be great.
Instead, these are my varying states of woe:
Stress eating with my hands – no plates.
Watching a show I don’t like for hours on end.
Checking all of my apps for about three seconds at a time.
Staring forlornly out of my window.
These habits contribute nothing except maybe a fluctuating ten pounds or so. There’s also this weird time warp that will happen on Sunday evenings when I’m laying on the floor or looking out the window when I feel like I finally see how depressing my life is.
I wake up. I eat. I go to work. I come home. I eat. My dog deserves better. This is my life. A bird that shits on a statue has more going on than me.
I basically am the queen of throwing my own pity party and then revising my history into gray scale. It’s like being Stalin. Kind of. Not really. Not even close.
It’s hard to change a habit, especially if you revel in it. That’s not to say that I want to be miserable. But I almost feel like I’m supposed to be miserable. Or, rather, I’m just used to being miserable Sunday evening, so why bother.
This month, I’m working to change that attitude. I won’t beat myself up when I do end up blobbing, but I want to be aware when I fall into my spirals. I also want to stop complaining about my life when I don’t try to take steps to make it better.
I mean, I plan to complain the whole time I’m trying but at least I’m trying.
I chose three goals I wanted to accomplish this month. They aren’t crazy. In fact, they are very damn attainable. But they’re dumb things I have been putting off for no good reason. In fact, here are some other dumb goals I need to work on that didn’t make the cut this time:
Doing my dishes. Regularly. To any extent.
Folding my laundry each time I wash a load. And then putting it away. In normal place. Not on my floor.
Giving my dog a bath. At some point. Actually, never mind, let’s push that off still.
Washing my bathrooms.
Responding to texts within a day. Or two. Or a week. Oops.
Budgeting my money. Or even tracking it. Having any sort of knowledge of my money. Do I even have money left?
Make my bed. That’s pretty easy and I don’t do it. I’m still riding high in that teenage-rebellion against a mother who made me make my bed every day. My inner child has officially died.
Buy a new bed. My current bed sucks. But this requires me to budget. So.
Taking all of that on at once, however, would be incredibly overwhelming. That’s why I’ve chosen to only focus on three goals instead of My Top Twelve Reasons To Have A Panic Attack. I’m hoping that this will change my Sunday Scaries into something more pleasant. There is no point in freaking out about my list instead of just…doing it!
And that’s what I recommend you try this Sunday. See what habit you can change that leads you into the weekend blues. What thought triggers the panic? What action makes it worse?