I’ve always hated Sundays.

For me, Sunday marked the death of my freedom and were a weekly reminder of my responsibilities. Each week I’d dread the eventual coming of Sunday because it marked the end of doing what I wanted to do and began the obligatory chores: laundry, meal planning, food preparation and after a my career change, lesson planning.

I felt like my life was a series of Must-Dos instead of May-Dos.

Each week, I’d mourn the loss of my freedom.

Crazy as it sounds, some weeks I’d start feeling the loss on Friday night. You know, because the end of the weekend was right there, especially if I had a lot of things planned over a weekend. Even if they were fun plans, the cloud of dread hung over my head.  A feeling of dread was my constant weekend companion.

So what happened to change my feelings about Sunday?

First, I quit my former career. The perpetual stomach ache disappeared, my insomnia lessened and my stress level decreased dramatically. Nothing like dropping an ill-suited career to bring a person back to life!

Starting my career in teaching was exhilarating and for the first couple years I was running on 100% adrenaline – even on Sunday. Nothing to dread because I was too busy still working.  Nothing could stop my perpetual forward motion, except of course, for every single virus that walked into my classroom. Needless to say, I spend the first few years of teaching is  a constant state of frazzle or on my deathbed sick.

As my husband told me over and over again (in regards to teaching)- you can’t sprint a marathon.

Three years ago, I started attending the Church of Yoga class held on Sunday mornings at It’s All Yoga. {It’s not really called that, but that’s what it feels like to me}.

90 minutes of glorious yoga community connection: poetry, asana, meditation.

It is a beautiful thing.

Recently, I’ve been attending the Church of Quiet.

{Sometimes not even on Sunday.}

So what’s this Church of Quiet?

The tiny spa in the basement of my gym houses a steam room, dry sauna and whirlpool tub.

{Shhhhhhh, don’t tell anyone. Hardly any one ever uses it.}

Once a week (if I’m lucky) I sneak down into the basement wrapped in my blue sarong I bought in Thailand (I’m modest that way) without my glasses and I get myself a cup of cold water and step into the steam room.

The hot, wet heat rises from the floor and envelopes me into its quiet. And I breathe.

When I run out of water or can’t stand it any more, I open the door and feel the relief of the cool room.

Another cup of water and I go into the dry sauna. For some reason I can’t figure out, I love the smell of the sauna. Laying down on the dry warm wooden bench, I close my eyes and breathe.

When I run out of water or can’t stand it any more, I open the door and feel the relief of the cool room.

After filling my cup once again, I turn the dial on the wall around the corner from the whirlpool.

I kick off my flip-flops and step into the deep, hot water. Letting my head rest back on the tiles, I close my eyes and breathe.

I know it is time to get out and head to the shower when the bubbles come to a rest.

All told this little spa day takes less than an hour, but restores me to better than new.

What about you? What do you do to restore yourself?