Washing the Day Away

Years ago, a client asked me how I let go of everything I heard during the day.

The answer surprised me.

I don't have a dramatic ritual.

I come home.

I lie down on the couch beneath a weighted blanket.

Usually, one or two cats join me.

I feel the weight settle across my body.

I listen to the purring.

And for a while, I do nothing.

Later, before bed, I take a shower or a bath.

As the water runs, I imagine washing the day away.

Not erasing it.

Not forgetting it.

Just letting it be finished.

I've always loved the feeling that comes afterward.

The day is over.

Tomorrow hasn't started yet.

For a brief moment, there is nothing to carry.

Looking back, I don't think these rituals are really about releasing stress.

I think they're about transition.

About marking the difference between what happened today and who I am.

The day belongs to the day.

Then it goes down the drain.