When my therapist suggested a possible reschedule to a Saturday morning, there wasn't even a hesitation before I said "no". I spent a few minutes afterwards reflecting on why I am so protective of my Saturday mornings and realized it goes back to the last few years of my marriage that I have chosen to carry forward into my single life.
It started with Sunday mornings before church but then quickly expanded to Saturday mornings on weekends when we weren't headed out for a day trip. It's my quiet time. I sip coffee, eat breakfast, post my daily photo to Instagram, write, surf the internet/social media, or whatever quiet thing I feel would feed my soul that day. While we were married, I had a subscription to the Washington Post and so would often lose myself in the comments sections as I debated topics with other commenters. Threads has replaced that forum now when I want to interact with others.
It was a time a day, that I refused to do dishes or other chores which was sometimes a point of contention with my ex-husband. He often wanted to get up and get things done. And to be fair, I wasn't stopping him. I just wasn't going to do my part at that time of day. I wanted this chunk of time for quiet.
It is "me" time.
I've now expanded a form of this to even my work days. The alarm goes off at 6am to make sure I don't oversleep but I'm usually climbing out of bed much earlier, sometimes as early as 5am. This morning I was showered, dressed, had made my lunch, and was sitting down to a plate of eggs and bacon when the 6am alarm went off. I don't leave for work until 7:17 am. so it usually gives me a fair bit of quiet time.
I'm trying to remember what made me start this routine and why it became so important. I can picture myself in the last apartment we shared together and exactly where I spent these mornings. We moved into that apartment in early March of 2023. My memory is fuzzier as to whether and how I would have taken this quiet time before that. I don't think it was a part of my routine though going back as far as my time in the midwest. Did I even drink coffee then?
I imagine it was a gradual addition to my weekends that at some point became sacred. Maybe this was a small way I was starting to learn to pour back into myself. Maybe on a subconscious level I was starting to recognize the drain on my energy even if I didn't yet fully understand what specifically was draining me.
So even now, on weekends, I don't rush the mornings. I don't move on to my next task until my body and mind feel ready to. Any plans I make for those mornings are only for things that will nourish my mind and body - like a trip to the gardens. That's the only exception to my quiet, coffee and me moments.
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