Soft Sundays & Small Victories: A Sunday Reset with BPD

Sundays used to feel like emotional landmines.

The stillness. The pressure to “reset.” The looming workweek. The vulnerability hangover from the weekend. For me, as a woman with Borderline Personality Disorder, Sundays can sometimes crack me open in ways that feel raw and unmanageable. But I’ve been learning—slowly, gently, persistently—that I can make peace with the quiet. I can make Sunday my own.

I’ve started calling them soft Sundays.

Not in a romanticized, pastel-filter kind of way. But in a “we don’t need to overextend or overexplain or overachieve today” kind of way. In a “whatever we get done is enough” kind of way. I’ve been learning how to reset in a way that regulates my nervous system, not inflames it.

Last week, we kept it simple. We spent a few hours at the public pool under the sun, letting our skin soak in something healing. Afterward, we did the usual reset stuff—laundry, grocery shopping, meal prepping, cleaning the apartment. Ordinary things. But for me, they’re grounding. They keep the Sunday scaries from spiraling too far.

This week was even softer—and somehow even more sacred.

We started the day with breakfast out together, just the two of us. No phones. No rush. Just syrup and eye contact and warmth. Then we came back and cleaned the apartment, but not in a frenzied, stressed-out way. We moved some furniture around, refreshed the space, and didn’t argue once. (That’s a big deal for me.)

We watched the Phillies and snuggled with Penny like the world outside didn’t exist. We did our grocery run and knocked out some meal prep, which always makes me feel more in control of my week ahead. And through it all, I kept checking in with myself. Breathing. Softening. Noticing when the Sunday scaries started to creep in.

Because they always do.

There’s always that moment when my chest tightens and my brain whispers that something bad is coming. That the quiet means rejection. That the week ahead will swallow me whole. But I’m learning that I don’t have to obey every emotional impulse. That I can feel a wave rising and still choose how I respond.

This Sunday, I tried to stay present.

I didn’t let the anxious thoughts narrate my whole day. I let love lead. I let the ordinary moments feel like enough. I let myself rest.

Soft Sundays might not fix everything—but they remind me that healing isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes, it’s pancakes and clean sheets and someone who holds your hand when your brain is too loud.

If you’re someone who feels tender on Sundays too, I see you. You’re not alone. And you deserve a reset that feels safe.

with soft love,

Devon