There’s a particular stillness to Sunday evenings when you live alone.
No one asking what’s for dinner. No background noise. Just the quiet hum of your space, maybe some music, maybe a show you’ve watched ten times before playing in the background.
Sometimes I cook. Sometimes it’s leftovers. Sometimes it’s toast. No rules.
It’s the calm before the storm that is Monday morning. It’s the wind down of a weekend where I’ve been relaxing, living my best life.
This weekend, I have written, and that’s my main goal for any day. So, that’s a success. I’ve moved forward in some material ways with my writing coaching business, and that matters to me.
I’ve also cooked and eaten some good meals, spent time gaming with friends, some of it while streaming. For me, this counts as social time – it’s not face to face, which means it’s not always what I need, but it’s still a good social time.
I’ve learned not to dread the “Sunday scaries.” For me, Sunday night is reset time. No performance, no planning marathons—just a bit of breathing space to put the weekend down gently.
Sometimes that looks like tidying up. Other times, it’s doing absolutely nothing useful. Lately, it’s meant writing down one or two small intentions for the week—not goals, just ideas I’d like to carry with me.
And sometimes, it’s just sitting here with a hot drink and the sense that I’m okay.
Not extraordinary. Not behind.
It’s okay. I feel good about myself, my weekend, and that’s a good place to end the week. A good place from which to start the week to come.