Sunday Edition: Sunday is the Woman I Want to be
Soft pants. Deep thoughts. No notifications.
The Sunday Edition is Tuesday’s little sister—off-the-cuff updates I’d bring up over a coffee catch-up with a friend.
There’s a version of me that only visits on Sundays.
She wakes slowly, warmed by the scent of coffee and toast. She steps onto the porch barefoot, cradling a mug in her hands, letting the quiet settle around her like a shawl. Her phone stays tucked away on the table, not out of discipline, but because she’s simply not looking for distraction.
She runs, not to check a box or close a ring, but to remember what it feels like to be alive in her body. She makes lunch, something simple and nourishing, and reads a book in the hammock with her legs swaying gently, like a kid again. She calls a friend and gives the conversation her whole, undivided self. There’s no multitasking, no background noise. Just presence.
By evening, she’s swimming laps in calm water, thinking about the world, how to live in it, how to soften toward it. How to hold joy and stillness in the same hand.
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Sunday doesn’t compete with the electric thrill of Friday or the golden glow of Saturday. She simply exists, quietly radiant in her own right.
She reminds me that I don’t need to chase or perform or prove. That the people meant for me will find me. That they’ll recognize the magic not in my productivity or perfection, but in my peace.
And maybe that’s the woman I want to be. Not just on Sundays.
But every day.
If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear: What does your “Sunday self” look like? How do you make space for her in your week?
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