Checked In: Notes from a Three-Day Staycation in Bed

For the past three days, I’ve barely left my house — and if I’m honest, I’ve barely even left my bed.

Not sick. Not injured. Just… not moving.

There’s a long list of things I could (and “should”) have been doing: replying to emails, running errands, folding laundry, stretching my legs, doing something that could be described as “productive.”

Instead, I found myself horizontal — scrolling, dozing, staring at the ceiling, letting the hours bleed into each other like watercolors.

And here’s the thing: I feel guilty.

And also relieved.

Like my body quietly staged an intervention before my mind caught up.

Why do we do this?

That’s what I keep turning over in my head: why do we — why do I — do this?

Is it burnout?

Is it rebellion against the relentless pressure to keep up?

Is it grief, boredom, depression, or a kind of self-preservation disguised as a nap?

Or maybe it’s just a protest against a world that rarely lets us pause without penalty.

I don’t have a neat answer yet.

But I’m curious what you think.

Your turn:

Have you ever disappeared for a few days — stayed in bed or at home, even though you technically “could” have been out in the world, Doing Things?

What was behind it for you?

Burnout? Permission to rest? Quiet rebellion? Or something else?

Hit reply and tell me:

📩 Are you Team Rest?

😅 Or Team Guilt?

Or maybe a little of both?

Thank you for reading — and for letting me write this from under a pile of blankets.

Here’s to finding peace — even when it looks a little feral.

Until next time,

Angela

🛌✨