Dreading Monday every Sunday

Thank you for sharing that. I can hear how much weight this is carrying for you — Sunday evenings turning into this kind of dread about the week ahead. And I like that you noticed the change. You said it *didn't* used to be like this, which tells me this isn't just a general thing — something shifted. Can you help me understand that? When did it start feeling this way for you? Was there a specific turning point, or did it kind of creep up on you?

I want to answer you honestly rather than just smooth things over. Is it normal? In a sense, yes — the kind of exhaustion you're describing is really common, especially when you feel stuck agreeing to things you don't want to do. The dread about going back to work is one of the most common things people come to therapy for, so you're definitely not the only one feeling this. But I'd gently challenge the way you're asking it. You asked "is it okay that I feel this way" — and I hear that as almost asking for permission to even *feel* it. And I'd say: permission already granted. Of course it's okay to feel this way. The fact that you can name it, that it's heavy enough to bring you here, tells me a part of you already knows this isn't where you want to be. That part is worth listening to. And here's something I'm noticing — you said you say yes to everything because you need the paycheck, and then you drown. So it's not just the work itself; it's the pattern of taking on more than you can actually carry. Would you be open to looking at that part a little? Because if I understand you right, that Sunday dread might be a signal that you've already agreed to more than you can hold.

Okay, I want to sit with you on that for a second, because I'm not going to just tell you that you have a choice when you don't. Your bills are real. The fact that saying no has consequences is not the same thing as you being bad at saying no — you're right about that. You're not perfect, and you're in a genuinely tough spot where your needs and your job are in direct conflict. I get that. But here's the part I want you to sit with: you said your teammates work the *same hours* as you and they *seem fine*. And that really matters, because it means the volume of work isn't the difference. If the hours are the same and the job is the same, then something else is different — about how you're carrying it. I'm not trying to blame you here. But I'm curious. When you look at the projects you're drowning in, and then you look at what your teammates are dealing with — is there something about *your* pile that's different? Is it the same kind of work, or is it more of a certain kind? And I'm wondering how you know they seem fine — are you actually hearing that from them, or is that something you've concluded? Because if the amount of work isn't the whole story, then the "job" isn't the whole story either. And I'd really like to figure out what the missing piece is.

And that's a really important thing to hear, even if it doesn't sit comfortably with it. You just named the pattern: you've become the person he knows will say yes. And he knows that *because* you've always said yes. So it's not random — it's that you've quietly allowed yourself to become the reliable "yes." I hear you though — "He's the one doing that, not me." That's fair. He's leaning on your kindness, and that's not fair to you. You didn't sign up for this. But I want to offer you one thing: you're not a bad person for saying yes. You're someone who hasn't really been allowed to say no. And the job is part of the story, but you're also the one who's always there who'll agree — and he knows it. So I'm going to ask you, and you don't have to answer it right now: what happens to *you* if you're not always the one who says yes? Not what happens to him — what happens to you? You can't tell me the risk to him, but if you can tell me the risk to *you*, then maybe we can start figuring out how to change it.

Okay. Let me stop and say what I'm hearing, because I want you to make sure you actually heard it back: you're telling me the thing you're most terrified of — losing your job, losing your income — is something that would happen *because you said no*. And I want to gently question that, because it's the whole foundation of why you feel stuck. Do you actually *know* that saying no would get you cut? Or is that a fear you're holding? Here's the difference I'm noticing. There's a real risk — he might get annoyed, he might say something in a review. Those are actual things that could happen. But being fired? That's a much bigger jump. Would a boss really fire a person who's working the same hours as everyone else, doing the same work, just for saying no to one thing? I can't imagine why he would. So let me ask you honestly: where did this fear come from? When was the last time someone was actually cut from this company, and what was the real reason? Because right now, "if I say no, I'll get fired" is a story you're telling yourself, and it's a scary one. I'm not trying to dismiss it — losing your job would be catastrophic, especially with your bills. But I want to look at whether it's actually true, or whether it's a threat you've been living inside. Because you said something important earlier — "I wish people would understand that instead of making it sound like I'm the problem." And I want to say clearly: you are not the problem. The problem is a boss who built a system where *he* decides what's fair, and *you* always agree. That's his problem to fix, not yours to carry.

That's a really important thing you just said, and I want to sit with it. You said the people who got pushed out "weren't even doing anything wrong, they just weren't useful to him anymore." That changes everything, doesn't it? Because it means the danger isn't about you *doing* something wrong. You're not doing anything wrong. The danger is that if you stop being useful to him, he stops valuing you — and a person he doesn't value is just someone to let go. So the real thing you're afraid of isn't "I'll mess up." The real thing you're afraid of is "I'll stop being useful." And that's a completely different, and much scarier, thing. Here's what I'm starting to wonder, though. Where does "useful" come from for you? If you stop being the person who says yes, stops being the person who absorbs all the work, what then? What would he see? And I want to acknowledge the other thing you just shared, because it's heavy: the only responses you get are "good luck with that." Nobody at work sees what you're carrying. Nobody says it's his problem. That means you've been carrying this alone for a long time, and you're the only one who knows how much it costs. That's exhausting, and it's a lonely kind of fear to have. But here's the thing I keep circling back to, and I want you to hear it: you've built your safety on being useful to someone else. And that's a really fragile way to be safe — because you're not safe if the person needs you changes. I'm not saying you should just quit tomorrow. But I want you to start seeing the shape of it, because right now "if I say no, I'm useless" is a story that's holding you hostage. And I'd like to help you find another way to be safe that doesn't depend on him. What does being "useful" feel like to you, though? What's in it for you when you're the one who says yes?

You're absolutely right that it's an unfair thing to ask you to figure this out — when the person who created the problem is the one who should be solving it. That frustration is completely legitimate, and you're allowed to be tired of it. But here's the part I want to name, because I think it's actually the most important thing we've figured out all day: you've been putting *all* of your safety in one place. Your safety is "I am useful to my boss." And if he decides you're not useful, that's it — game over. You've never actually built any safety that's your own. Think about that for a second. That means even if you wanted to walk away, you might not have a safety net — because you've spent your whole career proving you're useful to one person, and never building your own worth or your own options. So the fear of saying no isn't really about him firing you. It's that you've never had a backup plan, because you never had a backup plan for yourself. And I want to honor the anger in you, because it's the part that's been quietly resentful for years, carrying all this weight while everyone else gets to say "good luck." That anger isn't a problem to fix. It's proof of something: it's proof that you actually do want to be treated fairly. You want to be safe the way you deserve to be safe. So here's a different question, and I'm not going to keep asking you to just figure it out — I'm going to help you look at it. Have you ever thought about what you're actually good at, outside of just being the person who says yes? What would you even do if you weren't tied to keeping *his* job?

You're right to tell me that, and I want to own it — I've been asking you to do a lot of thinking about a future you don't have room for. And you're right that it's a lot, when you're barely holding it together on a Sunday evening. That's not dumb. That's just where you are, and I should have checked in first before I kept turning the future into a problem for you. I'm sorry. Let me stop for a moment. Here's what I'm realizing, though, and I want to be honest about it: I've been spending so much energy on "what would you do" and "how to be safe," that I've kind of forgotten about the thing you actually opened with — the dread. The feeling in your stomach on Sunday evenings. The knowing that the week is going to come, and you're going to have to go back into it. That dread is real, and it's heavy, and it's showing up *before* the week even starts. That's not just about a job or a paycheck. The fact that you feel this way before you even get to work tells me it's telling you something about how you see yourself going in — like you're already bracing for something to go wrong, or that you don't really believe you deserve to be there. So I'd rather we just sit with that for a moment, if you're willing. That Sunday feeling. What does it feel like when it's there? Heavy? Scary? Like you're waiting for a blow?