When Monday Feels Like Drowning

It’s 6:47 AM and I’m standing in my kitchen staring at the coffee maker like it owes me money. The alarm went off at 6, I hit snooze twice — okay three times — and now I’m half-asleep with toothpaste foam dripping down my chin and I’m supposed to be on the 7:15 train. Monday drowning doesn’t even begin to cover it.

My boyfriend Liam is already gone. Out the door by 6:15 like some functioning human being. I used to think he was exaggerating about his morning routine until I watched him eat oatmeal, drink black coffee, AND review his calendar before I’d even opened one eye. How does he do it? Genuinely, how does anyone do it?

I grabbed the wrong mug. The one with the chipped handle that’s been sitting by the sink for two weeks because I keep saying I’ll throw it out and never do. Coffee went all over my hand and I just stood there. Burned a little. Did not care. That’s the monday drowning feeling — small things stop hurting because you’re already so maxed out.

The subway platform was packed by 7:08. I’m not even going to describe the smell or the elbow situation, you already know. Some guy had his backpack on the train AND in my personal space, breathing directly into my neck like we were sharing a hammock. I wanted to scream but I just stared at my phone and pretended to read something. My screen was off. I didn’t even have it unlocked.

Here’s the thing nobody tells you about monday drowning. It’s not the work itself. I can do the work. I’m decent at the work, actually. It’s the getting-to-the-work part. It’s the smiling at coworkers who look refreshed. It’s pretending you slept well. It’s saying “yeah, the weekend was good, thanks” when your weekend was laying on the couch watching three seasons of something trashy and eating cereal out of the box at 11 PM.

My boss Janelle messaged me at 7:23 AM. SEVEN TWENTY-THREE. I saw it on the train and my whole chest went tight. Not even the message — it was just “hey can we sync at 10?” — but my body reacted like she’d said “get out.” That’s the thing about that drowning feeling. It lives in your chest before your brain catches up.

I replied “sure!” with an exclamation mark I did not feel. Then I put my phone in my pocket and closed my eyes for three stops. Missed mine. Ended up at Atlantic Avenue instead of my stop. Added 12 minutes of walking in shoes that were already giving me blisters. Cool. Great. Love that for me.

Waited in line at the coffee shop near the office. The one on the corner with the perpetually annoyed barista who acts like ordering a latte is a personal attack. Today she asked if I wanted my “usual” and I almost cried. Just the kindness of being remembered hit me weird. Is that pathetic? Probably. I don’t care. She gave me a free cookie and I think she saw something in my face that reminded her of herself once.

Got to my desk at 9:01. One minute late. The HR email about “punctuality matters” had gone out the night before. I sat down, didn’t take off my coat, and just breathed for about ninety seconds. My coworker Devon walked by and said “you good?” and I said “yeah, totally, just tired.” The lie came out so smooth I scared myself.

I’m tired of being tired on Mondays. I’m tired of pretending I’m not tired. I’m tired of saying “yeah the weekend was good” when the weekend was a recovery period from the previous Monday’s hangover from the Monday before. It’s a loop. It’s a stupid loop and I keep running it because what else is there?

Lunchtime came and I hadn’t eaten. Just coffee and the cookie. My stomach was making noises that sounded like a haunted house. I went to the sandwich place two blocks away and ordered a turkey sandwich I didn’t want because it was the first thing I saw on the menu. Sat at the little table by the window. Watched people walk by who looked like they had somewhere important to be. Watched a guy in a suit argue on his phone about something involving money. Watched a mom push a stroller while talking to her kid about a birthday party.

Why do other people look like they have it figured out? Even the ones who are obviously falling apart look more graceful about it than me. I was sitting there with turkey sandwich crumbs on my shirt, a chip in my coffee mug at home, blisters on my heels, and a 10 AM meeting I wasn’t ready for. Just a mess in public.

The 10 AM meeting was fine. Janelle wanted to talk about Q3 projections. I contributed. I said smart things. I looked engaged. Inside I was thinking about whether the laundromat would be open late enough for me to pick up my comforter after work. Adult life is just an infinite stack of errands and nobody warned us.

But here’s the part I can’t shake. The drowning feeling didn’t lift the whole day. Not once. By 4 PM I was staring at my screen, eyes burning, having re-read the same email four times. My head hurt. My back hurt. My feelings hurt. And I knew — I KNEW — I’d be sitting at the train platform again tomorrow morning, watching strangers breathe on me, wondering why Monday gets to do this to me every single week.

I called my mom on the walk home. She picked up and immediately said “you sound tired.” Moms. Right? She asked about Liam. Asked if we were “doing okay.” Asked if I’d been eating vegetables. Asked if I was “still doing that thing where you don’t sleep.” I told her I was fine. She didn’t push it. She just said “okay, call your sister” and hung up. Three minutes. That’s the whole call. And somehow I felt slightly less like I was underwater.

Got home. Took off my shoes. Didn’t cook. Ordered pad thai. Ate it on the couch in my work clothes. Watched something on my laptop. Didn’t remember what. The pad thai was good though. Gave it a solid 8 out of 10. Sometimes food is the only thing that doesn’t disappoint you.

Liam got home around 7:30. Asked how my day was. I said “long.” He said “yeah?” and waited for more. I said “just long.” He didn’t push. He made us tea. We sat on opposite ends of the couch and I scrolled my phone and he read something on his Kindle and for a second I remembered what rest felt like. Then I remembered I had to do all of this again tomorrow and the memory evaporated.

Do you ever feel like Mondays are personal? Like the day woke up and chose you specifically to ruin? I know that’s not how time works. I know Monday is just a calendar invention to keep capitalism running smoothly. But in my chest it feels targeted. It feels like a coordinated attack.

And the worst part? Wednesday will come and I’ll feel almost human. Thursday I’ll be productive and weirdly optimistic. Friday I’ll be a different person entirely — confident, social, slightly reckless. Then Sunday night will roll around and I’ll feel it creeping back. That Sunday evening tightness in my ribs. The “tomorrow is Monday” dread that makes my shoulders climb up to my ears.

I tried those things people recommend. Journaling. I journaled for two weeks in February and then used the notebook as a coaster. Meditation. I tried the Headspace app and fell asleep during a meditation about breathing, which is honestly ironic. Going to bed earlier. Liam has been saying this for years. I go to bed at 11, then 11:30, then “just one more episode,” then it’s 1 AM and I’m watching some stranger’s vacation vlog and hating myself.

None of it fixes the drowning. It just gives you tools to drown more gracefully. And maybe that’s the whole secret nobody wants to admit. Maybe you don’t fix it. Maybe you just learn to tread water with a slightly better posture.

But I don’t want better posture. I want one Monday where I wake up and feel like Monday is just a day. Just a regular day. Not the enemy. Not the cliff I have to throw myself off every week. Just Tuesday’s older sister with a slightly worse reputation.

Is that too much to ask? Probably. Yes. Definitely.

I’m going to bed now. It’s 10:48 PM on a Monday and I’m already thinking about tomorrow. Tuesday is fine. Tuesday is manageable. Tuesday I can do. But I’m already bracing for Wednesday, which is fine, except Wednesday means Thursday means Friday means Sunday night means Monday again. The loop. The stupid beautiful stupid loop.

I didn’t brush my teeth. Whatever. Liam will probably mention it in the morning. I’ll say I forgot. I’ll mean I forgot because thinking about my teeth felt like too much work after the day I had. He’ll understand. He always understands. That’s the only thing keeping me from googling “how to live off-grid” at midnight.

Okay. Going to sleep. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up before the alarm. Maybe I’ll make a smoothie. Maybe I’ll journal about how grateful I am. Or maybe I’ll hit snooze three times and stare at the chipped mug and start the whole thing over.

Either way. The water’s still there.

I haven’t learned anything. I’m not going to. I just wanted to say it out loud — or whatever this is — to someone who might get it. If you’re reading this on your couch in your work clothes with pad thai cooling next to you, hi. I see you. Monday is the worst. Tuesday we’ll survive. Probably.