Bare Minimum Day

Some days, I wake up, and I know — deep in my bones, behind my eyeballs, under the to-do list tattoos etched on my soul — that I cannot. I just cannot.

Not today.

And still, my brain starts: “We should get things done.”

Should clean. Should work out. Should make progress on healing. (Yes, healing has become a checklist, damnit.) Should reach out. Should be grateful. Should not waste the day.

And some part of me is like, “Cool cool cool, love that for us, but also — what if we just made the bed and put on pants and called that enough?”

And then immediately: guilt.

Guilt because I didn’t “optimize” the day.

Guilt because I’m not in crisis, so why do I need rest?

Guilt because, at the bare minimum, it feels like failure when I’m used to being high-functioning and hyper-aware and overachieving and productive even when I’m sad.

But here’s the thing I’m trying to learn (read: beat into my stubborn system with a glittery self-compassionate hammer): rest isn’t earned; it’s required.

It’s not dessert at the end of a productivity meal.
It’s not a luxury for people who’ve finished the race.
It’s literally how I keep going.

A bare minimum isn’t a failure. It’s a baseline. It’s me keeping the lights on. It’s me saying, “Hey body, hey brain — I see you. Let’s not burn out today, yeah?”

So yes, some days, the most I can do is:

• make the bed (which is folding the duvet into place with one dramatic flourish)
• put on pants (elastic waistbands TOTALLY count)
• drink tea (from the Dr. Who cup, because I deserve it)
• eat something with protein and salt and maybe joy
• take my meds
• not spiral about everything I didn’t do

And on those days, I remind myself healing includes not doing.

Living includes stillness.

There is wisdom in the pause.

Some days, I will do the work. I will clean, write, lift heavy things, create space, and make magic. And some days, I will do the bare minimum, and I will still be worthy.

Still, be healing.

Still, be whole.

Making the bed, washing the dishes, and doing laundry are tasks that sometimes require work.

And maybe that’s sacred, too.