I’m really good at falling asleep during movies. It doesn’t matter if I’m at home or in the theater—I’ll find a way to drift off. And sometimes, like last night, I’m fully engaged, swinging high on the entertainment swingset with zero intention of hitting the snooze button.
But still, my body gave in, and I sank into the quicksand comfort of my mushroom blankie, buoyant pillow, and absolutely no energy left to give.
I always find it interesting to see how long I last. Last night? Fifty-four minutes. Then, nineteen minutes later—probably once Dave noticed me twitching like a fish out of water—he turned the movie off.
So now, like I’ve done countless times before, I’m playing catch-up on what I missed.
Today has been such a productive day. Like, beyond-description productive. But I’ll tell you what—it only came after wanting to check out from overwhelm.
The subtle pull was there—the one that whispers, this would be more tolerable if you were in a slightly altered state. Like, I could just take an adult drink, and suddenly the boring or annoying thing wouldn’t feel as bad. Which made me realize that my brain has learned this little trick:
Task I don’t want to do + feeling bored or restless = I know what would make this fun (or at least less awful).
And honestly, it works. Temporarily. The laundry feels less boring. Dishes become more entertaining. Even scrolling my phone feels like a tiny adventure.
But there’s a cost. Because it’s not really about enhancing the experience. There’s this heavy feeling beforehand, this little negotiation happening in the background. Like I’m making a deal with myself every time.
And honestly? It’s exhausting. The mental tug-of-war, the constant questioning—should I be resting? Should I be productive?—it wears me down before I even start. The decision fatigue alone makes checking out feel like the easiest, most natural choice.
The bigger thing underneath it all?
My free time doesn’t actually feel free.
It comes with pressure. I should relax. I should do something productive. I should make this time meaningful. And that tension—that feeling of being pulled in different directions—makes checking out feel easier than checking in.
And it makes me wonder—when I reach for the drink or the gummies, afterward I don’t feel great. Actually, I feel a mix of regret, disappointment, and guilt.
But what my brain is actually craving in those moments? Release. Fun. Silliness. And, most of all, connection.
Now since naming it, I started making choices that actually gave me what I need—instead of just falling into habit or avoidance.
And it was really great!
That’s all. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 