Dreading Monday every Sunday

Sunday evenings hitting like that—that physical pull in your stomach before the whole week catches up with you. That sounds exhausting, especially when you said it didn't used to feel this way. I'm curious about that shift. When you notice that feeling rising up on a Sunday, what does it tend to be about for you? Is it more the work itself, or something about what it represents?

"Is that normal?" — I hear that, and I also hear the version of it that goes, *I should be able to handle it by now.* Like there's a point at which being this overwhelmed means you're failing somehow. Let me offer something different, though, before we get into the "shoulds." What you're describing—running on empty for months, being handed more with nobody checking whether there's room—isn't weakness. That's a genuinely unsustainable load, and a nervous system that starts reacting on Sunday evenings is telling you something real, not that you're brittle. But I am curious about that phrase: *nobody asks if you can actually handle it.* It sounds like maybe no one's been given the chance to say it out loud—or maybe when you've tried, it didn't land. When more gets set in front of you, what usually happens for you in that moment?

"Everyone's swamped." That's... not a good answer. That's a manager deflecting, not comforting you. So I'm not going to pretend that was anything but a brush-off. But here's what I'm noticing in what you just told me, and I wonder if you'll see it too. There's a loop here, and it's a tight one. You're reliable, so they come to you. You say yes before you can think, so you end up carrying it. You try once to speak up, you get brushed off, and now you just go quiet and take it on in silence. The result is the same every time: you're on empty by Sunday, Monday comes, more piles up. The uncomfortable part is that the loop keeps running even though you'd clearly rather it didn't. Not because it's your fault—because you keep saying it's not the problem. And you're right that you're not the problem. But you might be the one person in that whole system who actually *could* change the outcome, and that's a heavy thing to hold, because it also means no one else is going to fix it for you. So I want to get a little closer to that moment when the project lands on your desk. Before you can even think about it—that speed itself says something. What happens in you right before the "yes" comes out? Is it fear, or politeness, or something else?

"That's not how it works there." Yeah. And you're right about the injustice of it—your manager set this up, and then expects you to absorb the whole cost on your own time, in your own body, on Sunday nights. That's on her, not on you. But I want to sit with that phrase for a second: *the good one.* The one who gets things done. You said it almost like it's the truest thing about you. And I think that's the knot in all of this, because being "the good one" isn't free. It's the thing that gets you everything—trust, the hard projects, the respect—and it's the same thing that gets you trapped, because the moment you're not good, the moment you hesitate or set a boundary, you feel that tone drop on you. "Not a team player." And so you swallow it and say yes, to stay good. So here's the question I keep coming back to, and it's a real one: what would it be to *not* be the good one? What's the thing you're actually protecting by staying her?

"I don't know what I'd be if I wasn't that." Say that one more time, because I don't think we've really landed on it. That's a big thing to admit, and I want to be careful with it. It sounds like a good part of who you are has gotten tied up with what you *do*—what you provide, who leans on you. And when that's the case, it's not just your job that's on the line when you hesitate. It's your whole sense of being someone worth being. That's a lot of weight for one part of you to carry. So I'm not surprised "the good one" feels almost like breathing. It's not a habit you picked up casually—something in you learned early that being needed is how you're loved, or at least how you're safe. I don't know your history, but that feeling usually has roots somewhere. And I heard the other thing too, the last line—*she'd just find someone else, and I'd still get blamed.* I don't say this to argue with you. I just want you to notice it alongside what you said. That part of you already wrote the ending before you tried, so you wouldn't have to risk it. That's smart. It protects you. But it also keeps you exactly where you are. So let me ask you something, and it's a gentle one: when you imagine a version of yourself that isn't defined by being the one who holds everything—what's the fear underneath it? Is it that people would stop needing you? Or that you'd discover you don't actually like who's left?

First, the honest answer: yes. You're allowed to be upset. That's not a gift I'm handing you as a treat so you'll keep being pleasant—it's just true. You're working more than other people, you've been brushed off, and you're on empty every single week. Anyone in your shoes would be upset. So you're not whining, and you're not unreasonable, and you don't need me to tell you it's okay to feel that way in order to be a good person. But here's something I noticed, and it's worth looking at together. You asked me that question twice now—once about your work, and just now about being upset. "Is this unreasonable? Am I allowed?" Like you're checking, before I even answer, whether I'm going to find you too much. And that's actually the "good one" talking again. Because being good, for you, seems to mean: don't cause fuss, don't complain, don't be a burden, don't make it about you. And being upset about being stuck while everyone else goes home—feeling that—feels the opposite of good. So close to it, you have to ask permission first. So I'll ask you back, gently: what's the worst part of just *being* upset about it, without checking if it's allowed? What happens if you let yourself feel it and don't explain why you're entitled to it?

I'm not going to sell you something I don't believe. Sitting with the upset won't make your manager hand you less work. She'll still walk over Monday with another thing on her desk. If that's what you think I'm offering, then yeah—you'd be right to be skeptical. Here's the part I think you're glossing over. You're not overwhelmed because you can't handle it. You're overwhelmed because you keep saying *yes* in the exact same way every single time. The work doesn't change—what would have to change is that moment right before the "yes." And that's not a feeling. That's what I keep coming back to. Right now, when the project lands, you say yes before you can even think—politeness, fear of the tone, fear of not being a team player. That reflex is what keeps you on empty. Sitting with the upset isn't about making the week bearable. It's about widening that half-second gap, so next time you're not running on autopilot. But I do want to name what I just heard in your last lines. You said she's the one who should be looking at this, and you're just trying to get through it. Which is true—she is the one responsible. But you just handed her the answer again: she fixes it, you hold on. And I'd say that's the same "good one" moving in. Except now instead of being good for your boss, you're being good for me. Let the therapist sort it out, you just survive the week. So let me meet you where you are, since you want something real. You don't have to fire off at your manager—you said that didn't land. But what's the smallest version of "no" you could actually try? Something like, "I can take that on, but it means X is slipping—what should I deprioritize?" That's not a fuss. That's just handing the decision back to the person who set the expectations. Would you even be able to say something like that?

Wait, let me actually hear what you just said, because it landed like a warning and I want to take it seriously. "You keep saying I'm the one who has to change how I react." And you're right to flag that. Because if I keep telling you to adjust yourself around someone who won't adjust, then I'm just doing exactly what your manager does. I'm moving the whole weight onto you and calling it help. That's not what I want to do to you, and I don't think that's what you need from me either. So let me say plainly what I *don't* think: I'm not saying her behavior doesn't matter. It does. It's the real problem. I'm not saying you're responsible for fixing her. I'm not. But here's the honest distinction, and I'll try not to spin it. You can't fire her. You can't force her to be fair. So I'm not asking you to change your *reaction* to excuse what she's doing. I'm asking about something narrower and more useful: every time you say "yes" without a question, you're handing her a permission slip to keep piling on. That's not about making her nicer. That's about you not finishing the job for her before she even asks. And I'll go one step further, because I don't want to just leave you with tactics. You told me "it's not going to matter much." That part—that part's bigger than the manager. When you say she'll do what she does anyway, and nothing will change... that doesn't sound like a strategy. That sounds like you're already bracing for the Sunday. Like the outcome is written before the week even starts. So I'd rather talk about that. When you imagine trying something different and picture it going nowhere—what's the feeling underneath that? Is it tiredness? Or is it something closer to knowing, in advance, that it won't help?