Dreading Monday every Sunday

Thank you for bringing that in. And honestly, I think a lot of people know that Sunday evening feeling, but what caught me in what you said was the last sentence. "It didn't used to be like this." That tells me something shifted, and you're noticing the shift. You're not just having a bad Sunday. You're feeling the difference between how things used to feel and how they feel now, and that's a pretty unsettling thing to sit with. So before we go any further, I want to just say — you don't have to have it figured out for me. You don't have to have the right words for what changed. But I'm curious about it, and I'd like to follow wherever you want to take it. What does that stomach feeling actually feel like for you? Not the clinical version. Just... what's happening in your body when you're sitting on the couch Sunday evening, maybe winding down, and then the thought of Monday creeps in?

I don't think you're being dramatic. And I want you to hear me say that plainly, because I think you're bracing for me to say, "well, everyone has a busy job," and I'm not going to say that. That knot in your stomach, the getting up to do dishes for no reason, the phone-checking — that's your body already bracing for something it knows is coming. That's not overreaction. That's a signal. And I hear the "you know, what am I going to do?" in there. I think that's actually the harder part, underneath the feeling. Because the feeling is bad, yes, but the feeling is also *information*. It's telling you something is changing and you can't seem to stop it. The boss keeps adding. You can't say no. And Sunday evening is when you finally sit down long enough to feel the weight of what Monday is going to actually ask of you. So I'm not going to rush you toward "well, have you tried setting boundaries with your boss." You already told me you can't really say no, and I trust you that it's not that simple. There's a rent to pay, a life to keep running. But I do want to gently pull on one thread. You said it didn't used to be like this. And you said your boss keeps giving you more stuff. So I'm curious — when did the "more stuff" start getting to be too much? Was there a moment where it was fine, and then it wasn't fine anymore? Did something shift at work, or did something shift in you, or both?

Okay. I'm going to say something, and I want you to tell me if it lands or if it's off. What you just described isn't just "too much work." And I think you already know that, but nobody around you is naming it, so it stays in the vague "bad feeling" category, which makes it easier to dismiss. You're not just doing more tasks. You've been moved into a role where you're the one enforcing a policy nobody wants you to enforce, the one absorbing other people's frustration, and the one pushing products you're not sure are good for the people buying them. And the whole thing is wrapped up in a structure that, from what you're describing, treats you like a unit that generates output. So that knot in your stomach on Sunday evening — I wonder if it's not just "oh, I have too much to do on Monday." I wonder if part of it is that you're bracing to become someone you don't really recognize, for five days, in a place that won't notice if you're wearing down. You'll be the enforcer. You'll be the one upselling. You'll be the number. And you'll do all of that while some quiet part of you is going, "this isn't right, and also this isn't me." And nobody there is going to see that part. And then you said, "But that's the job. You don't get to pick." And I want to honor that. I'm not going to come back with, "Well, have you considered just... not doing it?" Because you told me what you told me, and I trust you that it's not that simple. Rent. Stability. The fact that leaving is its own whole terrifying thing. I get it. But I will gently pull on the phrase "you don't get to pick." Because I think that sentence is doing a lot of work for you. It's the sentence that lets you keep going when keeping going costs something. And I don't think you're wrong that the constraints are real. But I also want to ask — is "you don't get to pick" a fact that's been decided for you, or is it a decision you've made, maybe a year ago, maybe in pieces, because the alternative felt worse? And if it's a decision you made, does it still feel like the right one? Or does it feel like something you're just... continuing to do because stopping would mean confronting something scarier? You don't have to answer that right now. I just want you to notice that I'm asking, and notice what your stomach does when I ask it.

No. I don't think you're making excuses. And I don't want you to have to brace against me on that. You told me what's true for you, and I'm not going to come back with, "Well, have you considered just... leaving?" Because you already told me, and you told me twice, and I'm not going to pretend I didn't hear it. The rent is real. The mortgage is real. The bills are real. And "I can't just walk out because my stomach doesn't like Mondays" is not a weakness. It's a person being practical in a world that doesn't give you a lot of room. I respect that. And you're right to push back on what I said. I was reaching a little. You said it was handed to you, and that's what it was. Nobody sat you down and said, "Here's your new identity as the enforcer and the upseller." It just... accumulated. One policy, one new thing, one more complaint landing on your desk, and suddenly you're in a role you didn't sign up for, doing things you didn't sign up for. That's not a choice. That's something that happened to you, and you're the one paying for it every Sunday evening. So let me reframe what I was trying to get at, because I think the question isn't really "did you choose this?" The question I actually want to get at is different, and maybe harder. You're not being asked to quit. You're not being asked to suddenly tell your boss to shove the policy. Those aren't options right now, and I'm not going to pretend they are. But here's what I keep noticing when you talk about the job. You said, "I'm the one who has to enforce it." "I'm the one who gets the complaints." "I'm supposed to push products I'm not sure are good." And then you said, "But that's the job. You don't get to pick." And I think the thing that's actually getting you, the thing that makes the knot, isn't just the volume of work. It's that you're being asked to be a version of yourself that you don't quite recognize. You're the bad guy. You're the one upselling. You're absorbing other people's anger because the structure put you in the middle. And you can't leave. So you're doing it, but some part of you is quietly saying, "This isn't me," every single day. And nobody at the job sees that part. And then Sunday evening comes, and you finally stop, and you feel the whole weight of it. Is that close to what it actually is? Not just "too much work." But "I am doing things that cost me something I can't name, and I have to keep doing them, and nobody will notice what it costs." You don't have to have the answer. You don't have to have a plan. But I want to know if I'm tracking the right thing, because if I'm tracking the right thing, then maybe the conversation isn't about how to leave. Maybe it's about how you survive inside this without slowly disappearing into it. And I think you deserve help with that, even if the job stays exactly the same.

You're right. "Disappearing" is a big word, and I'll let it go. You said you're tired of being that person all week, and I think that's actually more honest than disappearing. You're not gone. You're still you. You just keep having to put on a different face five days a week, and the face costs you something, and by Sunday evening you're tired of the face, and the thought of Monday is the thought of putting it back on. So let me take your question seriously. "Is that possible, or is this just what the job is now?" And I'm going to be straight with you, because I think you deserve straight. I don't think the job is going to change in a way that fixes this. I believe you that the boss keeps adding, that the policy isn't going away, that you're the one who has to enforce it, that the complaints land on you. I don't think I can talk you out of that reality, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. You have bills. You have a mortgage. You're not going to just walk out. I respect that, and I'm not going to treat it like a lack of courage. It's not. But here's what I actually think might be possible, and I want to say it carefully, not as a pep talk. I think the Sunday heaviness is not just about how much work is coming. I think a big part of it is what you just said about people looking at you like you made the rule. You go home and you're tired of being the bad guy. And then Sunday evening you're sitting there, and the thought of Monday is not just "I have a lot to do." The thought of Monday is "tomorrow I am the bad guy again, in front of people, again, and I know I'm not, but I'm the one in the position, and I can't step out of it." And that's a specific dread. And I think that specific dread is what makes the knot tighten, more than the actual tasks. So the question isn't really "can the job change?" The question is more like: can you be the person who enforces the policy without that becoming the whole story you tell yourself about who you are? Can you say, "I am doing this thing for this job, for this rent, for these bills," and let that be enough, without it also becoming "I am the bad guy, this is who I am now, this is what I've become"? Because I think right now those two things are fused together in your head, and the fusion is what makes Sunday heavy. Not the enforcing. The enforcing is hard, yes. But the "and I don't know who I am anymore if I keep doing this" part, that's the part that sits on your chest at 7 p.m. on Sunday. I don't know if I'm right about that. You can tell me if I'm off. But I want to ask you something specific, because I think it matters. When you're at work, and you have to tell someone no, and they look at you, what do you actually feel in that moment? Is it guilt? Is it anger? Is it something like, "I know I'm not the one who made this, but I'm the one who has to be the wall"? And does it change, does it get worse, as the week goes on, or does it hit hardest on Monday morning when you first step back into it?

It is the answer I wanted. And also — you don't have to give me the answer I wanted. You don't owe me a breakthrough. You don't have to hand me some clean insight wrapped in a bow and then say, "I don't know if that's what you wanted." You gave me your week. The Monday-to-Thursday arc. The specific moment of someone standing in front of you, mad, and you being the wall, and not being able to say "it wasn't me." That's not a therapy answer. That's just your life. And that's enough. You don't have to perform for me. I'm not grading you. And I'll tell you straight what I think about your question, "Is this just what the job is now?" I think the job is probably what the job is. I don't think the policy is going away. I don't think the boss is going to suddenly see you and go, "oh, I've been grinding you down, let me fix that." You told me what's true and I believe you. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But I don't think the Sunday heaviness is fixed in the same way. And I want to explain what I mean, because I think it matters, and I think it connects to something you just said almost without noticing. You said, "I kind of want to say, 'Don't look at me, I didn't make this, talk to my boss.' But I can't." And I think that sentence is doing something important. The frustration, the "this isn't my rule," the anger at being the wall instead of the person who built the wall — that feeling exists. You just named it. You want to say it. But you can't say it at work. So where does it go? Does it go anywhere? Do you talk to a friend, a partner, anyone, about the enforcing stuff? Or does it just... get swallowed? Does it just stay in the stomach and then show up on Sunday evening when you finally stop moving and it's the only time you actually notice it's there? Because here's what I'm thinking. The Sunday dread isn't just "oh no, work tomorrow." The Sunday dread is the first time in seven days that you stop being the wall. And when you stop being the wall, all the stuff that you couldn't say, couldn't deflect, couldn't push back against, all the "I didn't make this, why are you looking at me like I did" — it finally has a moment to land. And it lands on you, alone, on your couch, with no one to talk to, with no outlet. And it lands heavy. And then you think about Monday and you think, "I have to become the wall again, and none of this will get said again, and it will just keep building." And that's the knot. So I'm not going to give you a Sunday evening relaxation tip. I don't think that's the thing. I think the thing is that you're carrying seven days of unsaid frustration and the only time you feel it is the one evening before you have to go back and be silent again. And that's a brutal little cycle. So here's my actual question for you, and I want you to just let it sit in your stomach for a second before you answer. Is there anyone — anyone at all — you can say the "I didn't make this, I'm tired of being the bad guy" sentence to? Even once. Even badly. Even if it's just a friend on a Tuesday, or your partner, or someone, anyone, who hears you and says, "yeah, that sucks, you're not the one who built the wall." Does that exist in your life right now? Or is the whole thing just... you, alone, with the knot, every Sunday?

I want to say something and I want you to let it land without you having to agree. You said you stopped bringing it up with your partner because he goes "well, you could just quit" and then you're the dramatic one again. And I want you to hear me say this plainly: you were not being dramatic. You brought something real to someone you love, and the response you got was, "just leave." And you looked at your bills, your mortgage, your life, and thought, "I can't just leave, so why am I bringing this to him if all he's going to say is the one thing I already know I can't do?" And then you stopped. And I think that was a smart thing to do. You protected yourself from a conversation that would have made you feel small. I'm not going to tell you to go back and try again and hope he responds better. He didn't respond to you. That's not your failure. But I also want you to notice what you lost in that. It's small. You didn't lose a big thing. You lost the small thing of saying, "I'm tired of being the bad guy," and having someone say, "yeah, I see that, that's rough, you're not the one who built the wall." And you lost it not because you were too much. You lost it because the person closest to you couldn't hold it. And now you're alone with it. And I don't think you chose to be alone with it. I think it just... accumulated, the way the job did. One policy, one more task, one more "well, you could just quit," one friend who's tired of hearing it, and suddenly it's just you, on the couch, with the knot, every Sunday. And you didn't sign up for that either. So now let me answer your question honestly. "Is this just what the job is now?" I think the job is probably what the job is. I'm not going to pretend the policy is going away or the boss is going to change. I believe you. You've told me three times and I trust you. But I don't think the Sunday heaviness is fixed in the same way. And here's what I actually think, and I'll say it plainly because I think you'd rather I just say it than dance around it. I think a big part of why the knot is so heavy is that it has nowhere to go. Five days you can't say "I didn't make this, I'm tired of being the wall." Your partner can't hold it. Your friends are tired of hearing it. So it just piles up in your body, and Sunday evening is the first time you stop, and it's the only time you actually feel the whole weight of seven days of swallowed frustration, and there's no one to put it down with. And then you think about Monday and you think, "I have to swallow it again," and that's when it gets heaviest, because it's not just work. It's the solitude of carrying it. And I want to gently say something that I hope you can take or leave. You're here. Right now. You told me the enforcing stuff. You told me the Thursday you're done. You told me the partner who says just quit. You told me you stopped bringing it up. You told me it's mostly just you. That's not nothing. That's you putting the knot down somewhere, with someone, who is not going to say "well, you could just quit." I'm not going to say that. I'm not going to say "have you tried setting boundaries." I'm not going to say "maybe consider a support group." I'm just going to say: you're not alone with it when you're here. And you don't have to fix it when you bring it here. You don't have to have a plan. You can just say, "I'm tired of being the wall," and I'll hear it, and I won't flinch, and I won't make you feel dramatic. And I don't know if that's enough. I don't know if it changes the knot enough. But I think the aloneness is making the knot heavier than the job alone would make it. And you deserve to not be alone with it. And you don't have to fix your partner or your friendships to get that. You can just... bring it here. And say it. And not have to perform it or make it productive. Just say it. I have one more turn with you after this, and I don't want to rush. But I want to leave you with something concrete to notice between now and our next conversation. And here's what I'd ask you to notice. Next Sunday, when the knot tightens, I want you to notice: is it just work dread? Or is it also "I have to be the wall again and no one will know I don't want to be the wall"? And if it's the second thing, I want you to try saying it out loud. Not at work. Not to your partner in a way that goes badly. Just to yourself, in your kitchen, doing the dishes for no reason, the way you already do. Just say it. "I'm tired of being the bad guy. I didn't build the wall." And see if it changes the weight even a little. You don't have to solve anything. You just have to say it once, out loud, to anyone, even if the anyone is just you. And then you can bring it here, next week, and tell me what happened. And I'll be here. And I won't say "just quit." You don't have to respond to that right now. You can just let it sit.

You're right. He's not the bad guy. I wasn't trying to make him one. He just couldn't hold it. And you figured that out, and you stopped trying, and that was you protecting yourself. I respect that. And you're right that the boss is the one who started it. You don't need me to reframe him as some deep character issue. He changed the rules and didn't think about what it would do to you. That's the whole story. You don't need me to add more to it. And yeah — talking to the dishes. I'll be honest, when I said it, I thought about it more in my head than how it would actually feel to do it, and "talking to the dishes" is a fair description. You don't have to do it. You don't have to try the thing. You said you'll think about it, and that's enough. You don't owe me a follow-up experiment. "It helps a little." I'll take a little. I think a little is underrated. You don't have to be transformed. You don't have to walk out of here lighter. A little is a little. It's not nothing. Go get going. It's late. You don't have to have it figured out tonight. You don't have to have a plan for Sunday. You just have to not be the only one carrying it, and you're not the only one carrying it right now. That's enough for tonight.