The Things I Convince Myself I’ll Do Tomorrow

How I start my Mondays usually determines how the rest of my week goes. My weekends are typically filled with family outings, time with friends, or a date with my husband. I look forward to Mondays — getting back into my routine.

Unless I decide, for a week and a half, to completely rebel against it.

I have a well-structured routine that works for me. I work out, stick to my meal plan, keep up with the laundry, and try to keep the house in order while working and being a mom. When everything is predictable, I’m usually in a good mood.

And then, out of nowhere, something shifts.

My random acts of chaos show up, and everything turns into a dumpster fire. I’m frazzled and irritated by everything. The sunshine annoys me, and my patience disappears. Maybe it’s PMS. Maybe it’s hormones. At 42, I’m convinced my body has its own agenda.

During this time, I abandon my workouts — despite all the consistency and progress I’ve made. I binge on sugar, carbs, and portion sizes like I’ve never seen food before. Laundry piles up. Everyone is wearing the “last resort” outfits. I don’t care if I look like I was styled by Adam Sandler. The house fills with toys, mail, and empty boxes.

We will all suffer in my misery together.

Somewhere in the middle of eating my sixth Reese’s peanut butter cup, I tell myself:

We’ll start fresh Monday.

I didn’t realize how often this cycle was happening until recently.

I’m someone who thrives on structure — schedules, planners, routines. So why do I keep stepping outside of it?

It doesn’t feel like a lack of discipline.

It feels more like burnout.

Even with a system that works, I hit a point where I need something different — or nothing at all. It’s a mix of boredom, restlessness, and exhaustion at the same time.

I’ve tried pushing through it. Ignoring it. Forcing myself to stay consistent.

That’s usually when everything unravels even faster.

So lately, I’ve been trying something different.

I let myself step back.

Not completely — I still work, I’m still a mom — but everything else gets quieter. Even small tasks start to feel heavier than they should, like I’m carrying something I can’t quite put down.

For a while, I felt guilty about that. When I tried to explain it to Matt, he would say I wasn’t disciplined enough. That frustrated me because I couldn’t explain what it actually felt like.

Eventually, I stopped trying to force it into something it wasn’t.

I started accepting it.

Not as failure — just as part of how I move through things.

And once I stopped fighting it, the guilt didn’t linger the way it used to.