I had a rather uneventful weekend. I mostly slept the hours away. So tell me why it made me so grumpy? In fact, I was so grumpy, I just went back to sleep.

We did fit in a 3-mile walk and some errands on Sunday, but it didn’t feel like enough. Maybe it’s because I had a packed schedule last weekend in New Orleans, and to go from that to very little was a shock to my system.

As I face another week of nonstop activities, I’m still filled with dread. I’m unhappy when I’m incredibly busy, and I’m also unhappy when I have nothing to do.

Simply resting isn’t good enough. I need plans. I need to make an effort. I crave stimulation, and the social media cycle wasn’t fulfilling this weekend.

But why isn’t resting enough? My body clearly needed all of that sleep. It’s the classic perceived need to be productive.

I’m not worthy of love(?) and respect(?) if I’m not productive.

Intellectually, I know this is a total fallacy.

I am worthy because I exist. I’m human. I feel. I am enough as I am.

Tell that to my nervous system. My anxiety is always simmering underneath the surface of things, and I can’t seem to shut off the burner. The meds act as a lid, but the bubbling is still there.

As I continue to reflect on my weekend, I grow more frustrated with myself. Rest isn’t a privilege, it’s a right. I don’t know how many times I need to tell myself that, or hear it from friends and family, before it actually sinks into my brain.

I am grateful for all the opportunities I’ve had in my life. But I also need to be thankful for the quiet moments when nothing is being asked of me.