Sunday Anxiety, Sunday Rest: Learning to Let Your Body Slow Down
We try to cram joy into Saturday like we’re storing sunlight for the week ahead. Then Sunday arrives, and we don’t know what to do with the shadows that follow. A quiet heaviness settles in before breakfast, and my mind starts planning before my body is even awake.
I walk through the week in my head — the deadlines, the appointments, the meals I haven’t planned, the people I might disappoint. My body is on the couch, but my mind is already sprinting through Monday’s maze.
We feel this tension because we’ve built a culture that worships exhaustion and calls it ambition. We expect to recover from a fifty-hour week with one nap, one brunch, and one clean kitchen, then wonder why rest doesn’t work. We don’t just want rest; we expect transformation. We want to wake up Monday reborn, calm, and full of gratitude. That pressure alone can break a person.
For a long time, that was my Sunday. I yearned for peace, but beneath the quiet, there was always a sense of impending doom. My phone would start buzzing early with work messages that weren’t urgent but felt urgent. By the time the sun came up, I was already somewhere between planning, performing, and pretending to be ready.
Sunday isn’t the enemy; the system is. The weight we carry comes from expectations we didn’t design but still obey. We’ve been taught to view the weekend as a reset button, but we’re not machines that can be rebooted. We need more than forty-eight hours to stitch ourselves back together.
That tension doesn’t just live in the mind — it lives in the body. The tight chest. The restless legs. The shallow breath. These are signs that the nervous system hasn’t yet caught up to the idea of rest. Your body doesn’t recognize “weekends.” It only recognizes safety and threat.
When the week has demanded too much, your body stays alert even when the calendar says to relax. You can feel that pull — a mind wanting to slow down and a body still bracing for what’s next. The stillness of Sunday often brings up what we’ve been too busy to feel: fatigue, irritation, and sometimes even grief.
From a somatic perspective, this isn’t failure. It’s awareness. Your body is telling you the truth about how much it’s been holding.
Instead of forcing rest, try listening.
Ask yourself:
What does my body need more of today — movement, quiet, sunlight, connection?
Where do I feel tension, and can I soften just a little?
What would help me close this week gently, rather than perfectly?
For me, Sunday has slowly become a practice of compassion instead of control. It doesn’t mean the anxiety is gone, but I meet it differently. Sometimes I rest. Sometimes I move. Sometimes I play. And sometimes I do nothing at all.
It’s not about doing Sunday “right.” It’s about creating space to feel human again.
If your Sunday still feels heavy, you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just learning what safety feels like after years of running on empty. It's okay to feel this way.
Before you start preparing for Monday, ask yourself one small question:
What would help me feel more like myself today?
Not what will make me productive.
Not what will make everyone else happy.
What helps me feel like me.
That’s the doorway back to nervous system safety. That’s where rest begins to feel possible. That’s where joy comes back in — not as a reward, but as something you’re allowed to have.
Healing Arts Center | Virginia Beach & Virtual
