Mental Health Day

Yesterday, I took a Mental Health Day.

As a kid, my brother used to take Mental Health Days. I remember the first one. I walked in the mudroom after cross country practice, dumped my backpack of books on the bench, grabbed a snack, and walked into the family room. There was Greg, wearing pajamas, slouched on the couch, playing Super Mario Brothers on his Nintendo.

“Are you sick?” I said.

“No. I needed some down time, so I took a Mental Health Day,” he said.

“And Mom agreed to this?” I said.

Yes, she did. Over the next eight years, she agreed to it again. And again. And again.

One day I shouted: “I NEVER GET MENTAL HEALTH DAYS!”

“You never ask for them,” Mom said.

True. Even after that open invitation, it never once dawned on me to request a Mental Health Day of my very own (which is probably why I burned out in my former career, but that’s another story).

But yesterday I was exhausted. I was recovering from an intense writers’ workshop, had been up working until 3am the night before, and was beaten down career-wise.

I remembered my brother’s solution to times of emotional drainage. I stayed in my pajamas until 1pm, channel surfed, and ate cereal. Then I took a long walk with my dog in the unseasonably warm autumn air. I ate comfort food (organic lentil soup and mac & cheese), and, when my husband came home, rested my head on his shoulder until I feel asleep.

I feel much better today.

So if you’re a mom and your kid is looking a little pooped – maybe having a tough week at school – consider giving him or her a Mental Health Day.

Most importantly, don’t forget to take one for yourself.