The Sunday Weight- A Reflection

When I wrote this poem, I was feeling really down. It was a Sunday night—around 9 p.m.—and even though the day was almost over, my mind wouldn’t stop racing. I kept thinking about the next day. About work, about everything waiting for me that I didn’t want to deal with. I felt tired before the new week even started.

It’s always the same feeling. Every Sunday night feels like this weight slowly dropping onto my chest. I feel anxious, guilty, lonely… and confused. Like I’m stuck in a life that doesn’t really feel like mine. Like I’m just going through the motions and I don’t know why anymore.

I kept thinking—why am I here? Why am I doing this again? Why do I keep living the same week over and over, wishing it was different but never changing anything?

And even when I try to be positive, there’s still that voice in the back of my mind saying, “You’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

Sometimes I wish Sunday would last forever. I find myself begging time to slow down. Wishing Monday would never come. I know it sounds dramatic, but it’s how I feel. I picture time moving slower than a sloth, slower than a turtle—anything just to buy me more space before the routine kicks in again. Because once it starts, it’s like I disappear.

Going to work, doing the same tasks, pretending to be okay—it feels like I’m putting on this version of myself that doesn’t match who I really am. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like living someone else’s life. A version of life I didn’t choose and one that I can’t fully escape.

The worst part is the regret. I try not to dwell on it, but it creeps in during these quiet moments. I look back and think about the choices I didn’t make, the things I let go of, the paths I was too scared to take. And I wonder if I missed something important. If maybe I could be somewhere else—someone else—if I had done just one thing differently.

I keep thinking life isn’t fair. That I’ve worked so hard and tried to do everything the “right” way, and still ended up feeling this empty. And I know I’m not alone in that, but when you’re feeling it—it feels very personal.

And the thing is, I do know what I want. I’ve spent hours thinking about it. Daydreaming about starting fresh, doing something new, finally taking a risk. But for some reason, I can’t get myself to move. It’s like I’m stuck between knowing and doing. Between wanting and acting. And the longer I stay here, the harder it feels to change.

Some days I’m just tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of always trying to be strong. Tired of acting like I’ve got it all together when deep down, I don’t. Not even close.

Writing the poem was a way to get all of that out. It was the only thing that made sense in that moment. It didn’t solve anything, but it gave me a small sense of relief. Like I wasn’t holding it all inside anymore. Like I could breathe, even if just for a few minutes.

And maybe that’s what writing is for me sometimes—not fixing things, but just giving the truth a place to live.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt stuck, or behind, or unsure about your life... I want you to know that I understand. Even if our stories are different, I know what it’s like to feel like you’re walking through a life that doesn’t feel like your own.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need to push away the heaviness. Some feelings just need to exist for a while. Some truths don’t come with solutions right away—and that’s okay.

There’s no shame in feeling like this. It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re human.

And if your Sunday nights feel heavy too, if you’ve ever sat in that quiet dread of another Monday, just know you’re not alone. I see you. Maybe you’re carrying questions you don’t have the answers to yet.

Maybe you're holding onto a dream you’re too tired to chase. Maybe you just want someone to tell you it’s okay to rest.

So here I am, saying it:

If you feel this too, I see you.


You’re not behind. You’re just in a hard part of the story.


And even if it doesn’t feel like it yet—you’re going to find your way.

What do your Sunday nights feel like?


Is there something you're carrying that you wish someone could understand?

You don’t have to share it, but I hope you give yourself permission to feel it. And when you’re ready—say it out loud. Write it down. Or just sit with it. That’s enough for now.