We are living in strange times, the likes of which many of us will have never experienced before and will hopefully never have to endure again. As of today I have been working from home for ten weeks – my employer made the decision to close the London office before the country officially went into lockdown. We’ve since been advised that those of us who can should continue to work remotely for the remainder of the year.
I can safely say that I am in this for the long-haul.
During the first few weeks of lockdown I tried to throw myself into a new, über-sociable routine. I hosted a daily coffee morning for my friends from 08:00 every weekday before work, desperately trying to find a surrogate for those conversations I would’ve been having with colleagues while standing in line for the espresso machine in the office kitchen. I signed up for every online event I could, accepted every calendar invite that appeared in my inbox.
At some point during week three, the Zoom fatigue started to creep in.
Getting up each morning and making sure I was camera-ready suddenly felt like a chore. I became drained trying to navigate the weekly ‘water cooler’ catch-up organised by someone in my team at work. Some of my friends seemed to be flourishing in this new social cyberspace – we’re talking neon hair dye, increasingly flamboyant outfits, purple lipstick. I, on the other hand, had completely forgone wearing a bra and was in danger of my favourite jogging bottoms becoming permanently grafted to my legs.
(Please don’t take this to mean that my personal hygiene had fallen by the wayside. I can’t stomach the thought of not having a daily shower. I once attempted to go one day without washing my hair and regretted my decision so intensely that I ran to the nearest salon during my lunch hour, paying a very bemused stylist £40 for a shampoo and blow dry. While my dress sense going out the window during lockdown I can assure you that I have been properly groomed.)
Something had to change. I realised that I needed to craft a more nuanced routine, to find the Goldilocks zone between total recluse and online social butterfly. I’m still fine-tuning my weekly schedule, but there is one day that I think I’ve managed to perfect.
Monday.
Just twelve months ago I was one of those people who would start to feel a slow sense of impending dread around 16:00 on a Sunday afternoon, knowing that the dawn of the working week was just around the corner. Now I’m in a job in enjoy with a wonderful boss, but I think we can all agree that Monday can still be a bit of a drag. So I was surprised, to put it mildly, when a few weeks ago it became one of my favourite days of the week. Because, my friends, I have found the perfect formula for Monday evenings.
Therapy + Yin yoga + bubble baths.
I’ve been having therapy every Monday evening for about a year now and it’s seriously one of the best life choices I’ve ever made. I’ll admit that I’m fortunate in that I can afford to pay for private treatment, but it has been such a good investment. It’s had a phenomenal impact on my life; my relationships are stronger, I’m steadily growing more confident and I’ve found the courage to make some really great, life-changing decisions. That’s not to say that therapy is all sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard, really hard. It’s a gnarly combination of being thrown in the boxing ring with your deepest, darkest demons, while simultaneously all the messiest, worst parts of yourself are being broadcast on a big screen in vivid technicolour. I’m in a good place now, but there have been some really rough moments along the way. To use a knitting analogy, sometimes you need to rip a project back in order to make it better.
My sessions have continued during lockdown, albeit over the phone rather than in person. I’ve blocked the time out in my work calendar as ‘do not disturb’ and I make an effort to give myself enough time to decompress after the business day. I’ll admit that it does feel very odd getting into my therapy headspace outside of my therapist’s office, but I think I’ve been getting better at it as I continue to acclimatise to the situation. And what’s the perfect compliment to a therapy session?
Yin yoga, my friends. You’ve just spent an hour talking and getting your thoughts out in the open. Now it’s time to turn your mind inwards.
My friend and fellow choir member, Sally, qualified as a Vinyasa yoga instructor last summer and has started running online sessions for her friends now we’re in lockdown and can’t get to an actual studio. Every Monday evening at 20:00 she runs a Yin class. In stark contrast to the dynamic flow of Vinyasa, Yin yoga involves getting into a pose and holding it for around five minutes, trying to remain as still as possible by focusing on your breath. It’s incredible, like meditation for your body and your brain. Sally creates this super chilled vibe (candles, blankets and pillows are encouraged) and collects self-affirming poems to read to us while we’re mid-stretch. It can get pretty intense, I’ve definitely found tears rolling down my face during baddha konasana, but at the same time is really soothing and cleansing.
By the time the hour is up I’m usually feeling pleasantly boneless, so I pick my favourite soak of the moment (currently a fig and sandalwood concoction from Waitrose) and run myself a bubble bath. I’ll spend around half an hour in the tub, usually with a face mask for that extra bit of luxury, listening to a carefully curated playlist of chill-out tunes. By the time I emerge, ready for bed in my PJs, I’ve reached peak mellowness. I’ll spent a bit of time jotting down my final thoughts for the day in my journal while waiting for my hair to dry. By the time I get to bed I’m usually asleep not long after my head has hit the pillow.
The first time I tried out this Monday evening routine I was so relaxed that when I woke up on Tuesday morning it felt like I’d had a three day weekend. So while I’m still making some tweaks to my weekly activities, I think that mellow Mondays are here to stay.