Persona in Progress

Monday morning started with its weekly ritual, setting myself up for a productive week with an Americano and a dash of collagen. I dismissed the headache I woke up with to the extra glass of wine I indulged in the night before.

As the day wore on in a whirl of meetings, emails, and project management, I started feeling off. My head wondered if I’d caught the cold making its rounds this winter. My heart, she’s the more stubborn one, decided to drown the doubt with vitamin C.

Around lunchtime, my body started showing some real symptoms. I was sneezing more often, and my eyes took on that jaded look that no amount of eyeliner can correct.

I booked myself into a meeting room for the rest of the afternoon to contain the germs and powered through my extensive to-do list. Eventually, 5pm rolled by and I decided it was time to head home. Wow, my body was not impressed with me. I got chills, followed by the urge to eat something comforting and hearty. I organised some spicy curry, bundled up and went straight to bed.

Tuesday morning’s daybreak brought the inevitable. I had slept through my alarm, and my body was definitely alerting me to the fact that I needed rest, or else… So I took my sick day. I informed my manager, rescheduled meetings, and put up a brief automatic reply. As I crawled back into bed, my heart whispered, “But what about that analysis thats due, and that report that you’ve almost completed?”

I nearly yanked off the covers and dragged myself to the laptop, until my head screamed in pain.That’s when I had to sit myself down and face the guilt.

• Why on earth do I feel bad for taking a sick day?
• Why do I measure my worth in productivity, even when I’m unwell?
• What is this strange pressure to be endlessly useful?

I gently reminded myself: I’m not saving lives. I’m saving PDFs. Yes, my job matters. Yes, I take pride in what I do. Yes, I strive to deliver excellence. But it shouldn’t come at the cost of my health or sanity.

So, I permitted myself to rest. Completely and unapologetically. I sipped rooibos tea with ginger, lemon, and honey. I had some rasam, the fire-in-a-bowl soup my late mom Alice used to make when I was sick. And later that evening, I made a healing chicken soup that has been my main source of comfort while my body does its thing.

It’s been two days, and I feel like a new person. Still a little tired, but on the mend. And honestly? This whole experience reminded me that sometimes the most productive thing I can do is listen to my body and rest.