Mental Health Days

Are we really encouraged to take them…? I’m inclined to say no. For me, the guilt of taking care of myself and not staring at my computer for hours doing work typically eats away at me. So then I end up spending the whole day doing work anyway.

Maybe that will change with time—when I’m older, perhaps I won’t feel so riddled with guilt and perfectionism.

Ever since I was little, I’ve had this fear of “What if I am constantly being watched?” I used to think news reporters could see me through the television, so I’d never pick my nose or a wedgie. Or, if I did pick either of those things, I wanted to burst into flames and die. How dare I be caught in the act of being human.

Now that I’m older, I worry that somehow, someone will know if I take even five minutes for myself. Just to breathe. To gently massage the headache out of my temples. I suppose the problem is that I never want anyone to think I won’t be my most honest, hardworking self. It could be the Catholic guilt that is weaved into my DNA that makes me feel this way. I never want to let anyone down. But it’s gotten to an insane point where I’m the least able person in the entire world when it comes to taking a moment of relaxation. I need a task at all times. And I need to perfect that task.

For my work self, the task is usually responding to emails in the most meticulous, subtly persuasive manner so that I am presenting myself in a professional, caring way at all times. For my personal self, the task is usually cleaning every millimeter of every surface that I have possibly touched in my little apartment. You could lick the floors, they’re so clean.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: Why do I feel like I always need to explain myself? Why am I always needing to DO something? Why do I feel like I can’t take care of my mind without it being worthy of penalty?

The older I get—and I’ve had many older friends, family members, and professors tell me this—the more I realize how truly important it is to take some time for myself. I can’t possibly be “on” all the time; I’m not sure why I’m trying to be that either. It isn’t feasible.

I wonder at what point my guilt will flush itself away, and I will be able to take a mental health day where I go for a guilt-free stroll in the middle of the afternoon. I can picture it now: Scrambled eggs in the morning, an episode of “30 Rock” playing while I sip my coffee, stretching my tight hamstrings, not checking my computer.

I already miss it.