I took my first mental health day.
That day lasted a weekend.
And quite frankly, it was pretty much on and off all week, minus the times I had to do adult things to make sure the other worlds around me that are affected by me keep moving since I like being responsible.
During my first mental health day, I washed all my bedsheets, made my bed in the most proper way possible, cleaned the floors, cleaned my bathroom, wiped down my Vespa, fed Daisy (my starter), let my brain veg out to some TV (Netflix: Chef’s Table – Franc), pretty much try to reset all my senses, signaling a new direction I decided to move in. I nourished myself with the finest tea I own, spent the minimum amount of time needed to set certain things in order and sat on my porch swing. I let myself laugh; I let myself cry; I let myself feel nothing; I let myself feel everything. For me, if I were to figure some things out, I needed to allow myself to experience every emotion.
I can’t believe I procrastinated from a mental health day all the other times in the past when I should have probably taken one. I vow to more than make up for it going forward. I have emerged, with more clarity (not all the clarity) and a stillness I had never found before. I am very grateful for everyone’s offer to listen, to love, to care.
I will try something new. Maybe I will call them mental health hours, or minutes, or seconds.