I quit all the Sunday "doing" cold turkey by doing this one thing.

Friday came and went.

I didn't change the sheets on the bed.

Oops.

Maybe it's because my husband was away all week and it's been a Robyn week all week long.

Or maybe it's because I've been busy purging and shedding and reveling in being single wishing I had another week solo to continue my mission.

Either way.

The sheets are dirty.

And I'm three days behind.

But… on my Sunday drive this morning a piece of myself I have ignored for far too many Sundays came alive.

I rolled my windows down. Turned my Jesus music up. Put my Top Gun shades on. And my brain suddenly started spitting out downloads to document in my notes app faster than the red lights I sat at. (I use voice activated.)

Sundays are for doing whatever you want. For God. For rest.

For relaxing. WTF is that?

For exhaling.

For returning to yourself.

They are NOT for inhaling.

And DOING.

I've let my Sundays get away from me.

Working. Trying. Fitting it in. Catching up. Doing. But not the doing I really wanted to be doing on Sundays.

Not the laying by the pool doing.

The window shopping doing.

The lazy morning doing.

The beach day doing.

The planning vacations doing.

The getting pedicures and reading and hanging out by myself doing.

The whatever the heck I want doing.

Farting around. That's what my dad would call it.

I asked myself... What is all this other doing... DOING?

 Who am I doing it for?

Who do I wanna impress?

And why?

What am I proving?

What are all the other people doing with their Sundays?

Are they too lazy to do what they really wanna do too?

Do they do nothing?

Or do they do work?

Or the easy?

The familiar?

The same old same old?

Or what everyone else wants?

My husband has no problem doing what he wants every Sunday. And I'm really good at doing what I want Monday through Saturday.

But for some reason, on Sunday... I freeze like a shotgun has been pulled on me to do ALL the unfinished doing I couldn't do the six previous days. I am tethered to ghosts of guilt about what Sunday should be doing and who it should be doing it for.

I know this much…Sundays should not be a struggle.

They should be enjoyed.

They should be long.

They should be slow.

They should be mine.

Yours.

Ours.

I felt cleansed driving with the windows rolled down. My soul was open and every stagnant, stale, ugly Inside Out character finally found their exits.

I drove freely.

To a different nail salon.

A different gym.

A different grocery store.

A different shopping plaza.

A different route home.

A different playlist from 2024.

Surprised myself with spontaneous kindness.

Swam in the pool.

Worshiped God in public.

Ate my infamous homeless cheesy eggs for dinner. (Another essay. Another day.)

Fed the stray cat.

And wildlife.

Folded some laundry.

Wrote three articles I don't love yet but will when they're ready.

Chilling with SVU.

And when I started to think about Monday and what to do first, I remembered Matthew 6:33-34. Tomorrow can take care of itself.

So I opened the windows to the house with the AC on at 65. Knowing my husband would have a fit. You see why I want one more week.

And I still need to change the sheets. I think he gets in around 5pm tomorrow.

I still have time.

Right now…I'm enjoying my Sunday.

The sheets can wait.

Exhaling cannot.

Author, Robyn Lynn Tanner
Jun 21, 2026