Here we go.
Starting another week off trying not to drag my feet—because I know I’ve got the rest of the week to do just that.
It’s Monday, and the only thing that comes to mind is how much I miss being a kid.
Back when the air felt lighter, and my body didn’t carry the weight of expectations.
Back when I didn’t wake up with a lump in my throat and a list of things I’m supposed to be.
I miss the version of me that didn’t know what burnout felt like.
The version that believed Mondays were just another day to play.
Now Mondays feel like a slow unraveling.
Like I’m stitching myself together just enough to pass as “okay.”
Like I’m performing stability for a world that doesn’t ask if I’m tired—just if I’m productive.
I didn’t just live without worry—I lived with the quiet comfort of knowing someone else was doing the worrying for me.
Someone who made the world feel padded, like even if I fell, I’d land softly.
Now I wake up and realize I am the padding.
I am the worrier.
And I don’t know when that shift happened, but I feel it in my bones.
In the way I double-check everything.
In the way I smile when I want to cry.
In the way I carry everyone else’s weight like it’s mine.
I miss being held.
Not just physically, but emotionally.
I miss the unspoken promise that someone would catch me.
Now I catch myself.
And some days, I don’t even want to.
It’s Monday.
And I’m tired.
Not just from lack of sleep, but from pretending I’m not overwhelmed.
From pretending I don’t miss the girl who used to believe the world was kind.
From pretending I’m not grieving the simplicity I didn’t know I had.
By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis
The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly 