Yesterday wrecked me. Even though we are over halfway through May, it was so cold and damp yesterday morning that I had to dust off the winter coat that I thought I had retired for the season.  It was unseasonably cold and dreary. By the time I walked through the doors of my office building my glasses were all fogged up with mist and rain. It was only 7am and I already longed to crawl back into bed.

If that wasn’t bad enough, my coworkers proved testy that day. When I innocently tried to clarify a contradiction in instructions I was given on a task, I accidentally treaded on some inflamed egos in the process. I spent the rest of the afternoon apologizing for something I never felt I did wrong and offering up whatever peace offerings I could. Things did get smoothed over and technically the only thing it cost me was a little bit of dignity.

When work was over, I rushed home and began reflecting on my day. In the grand scheme of things, nothing turned out too bad. But the day had taken its toll on me. By the time I made it back to my apartment, I felt like I had been emotionally ripped in two. I felt exhausted and a little degraded. During the day, I had to put aside my own pride and integrity to keep the peace at work. I played small to ingratiate myself to those who were older and more powerful. In the moment, it worked to get me what I wanted. But in the evening, when I was left alone with myself and my thoughts, the price I had paid to keep the peace came back to haunt me. Just because someone is older and more powerful, doesn’t mean they are more wise or emotionally intelligent. The weight of hierarchy had hurt me that day and the hurt lingered.

I couldn’t shake the malaise of the day off of me.

I sat and stewed for a little bit. Sometimes, when my mood gets bad enough, it feels like anything but sitting around and being miserable for a bit would be an insult to myself. So, I sat and indulged my misery and melodrama for a little bit. I have a large faux fur bright red shag rug in my living room. So, I laid on the floor, running my fingers through my rug, and let myself cry. The moment of pain and indignity was rapidly spiraling into melodrama and I was ready for it. Soon the red of the rug felt fitting as it felt like I was bleeding out onto the floor.

I let myself get dragged under my feelings a little bit. I let them spill out into exaggerated shapes, but even the drama of despair gets exhausting and unsustainable. So, I decided I needed to shake myself off. I picked myself off the floor and went on a walk. When I came back, I felt a bit refreshed but still drained. I was able to turn the rest of the night around by draping myself in blankets and settling in for a television marathon.

When I was at work today, I mentioned to another coworker that the weather yesterday was miserable and that it drained me so much that I was able to get nothing done but a couple episodes of TV. She scoffed dismissively and said that she wished she could have a night like that. But to me, that night in wasn’t a night of lazy indulgence, but rather one of emotional survival. It wasn’t a luxury, it was carving out time to care for myself and to make a little pocket of peace in my day. Maybe no one will understand it. But it was my time. I needed it and that’s all that matters.