Ever had one of those Sundays where you’re simultaneously scrolling dog adoption sites 🐾, calculating how many PTO days stand between you and sanity 🧮, and wondering if adulting came with a manual? Same. That’s why I declared war on Sunday Scaries and turned my weekends into a glitter bomb of radical self-care. Not the “light a candle and call it therapy” kind – we’re talking full Eat Pray Love meets Mad Max energy here.
Let’s get real: the “wellness industrial complex” wants us to believe self-care means buying $80 sea moss gels and contorting into yoga poses named after Sanskrit verbs. Nope. My version involves eating cold pizza straight from the box while watching 90 Day Fiancé reruns – and science actually backs this chaos. A 2022 study showed unstructured downtime lowers cortisol levels more effectively than rigid relaxation routines. Translation: Your Netflix-and-nap marathons are basically medicinal.
But here’s my spicy take: Self-care isn’t about avoiding life’s mess – it’s about weaponizing joy to survive it. Last month, I conducted a highly scientific experiment (read: desperate survival tactic) involving three Sundays:
1️⃣ The “Productivity Prison” Sunday: Woke up at 6 AM for journaling, meal-prepped kale salads, and finished a LinkedIn course. Felt like a sentient to-do list by noon.
2️⃣ The “Goblin Mode” Sunday: Stayed in pajamas, rewatched Twilight twice, ate cereal for dinner. Felt oddly powerful.
3️⃣ The “Hybrid Rebel” Sunday: Slept until 9, took a forest bath (aka walked to Starbucks), then spent two hours making terrible abstract art. Felt like Picasso’s chaotic cousin.
Guess which version left me actually ready for Monday? (Spoiler: It involved glitter glue and zero kale.)
Here’s why your brain needs messy, rebellious self-care:
Neuroscientists found that novel experiences – even silly ones like trying TikTok dance fails – create new neural pathways. It’s like giving your mind a jungle gym instead of forcing it to run on the hamster wheel of “shoulds.” My new Sunday ritual? “Ugly Baking” sessions where I intentionally create monstrosities like blue spaghetti cupcakes. It’s terrible. It’s fabulous. My cortisol levels don’t know what hit them.
But let’s talk about the elephant in the burnout room: guilt. That voice whispering “Shouldn’t you be answering emails/cleaning baseboards/being productive?” Here’s my counterattack: I keep a “Guilt Jar” where I deposit $1 every time I feel bad about resting. The twist? The money funds my monthly “Treat Yo Self” fund. Last month’s guilt bought me these fabulous snake print boots 👢. Moral of the story: Let capitalism fight your inner critic for you.
Your turn: Next Sunday, try my “Three-Rule Reset”:
1. Do one thing that feels slightly illegal (singing show tunes in the shower counts)
2. Engage exactly zero productivity apps
3. Take a “news detox” from all trauma headlines
Trust me, your Mondays will never be the same. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a bubble bath and a giant margarita. The world can wait. 💅🍹