A Sick Day Like No Other
It was a sick day — the first one in a while. My body felt heavy and awkward, stiff-necked, bunged up, and my own breathing sounded loud and alien. The little one, so generous with germs, had kindly shared this lurgy with me. My partner, also under the weather, had taken one off too. Despite feeling like a human accordion, we carried on as normally as possible, because someone had to look after the small human.
The alarm went off at 7, but I didn’t get out of bed until 7:15. My mind cycled between frustration — “Why me?” — and denial: if I ignored it, maybe it would go away. Spoiler: it didn’t. Eventually, I shuffled through the autumn drizzle to nursery. By the time I’d handed over the little one, two other families had already dropped off their kids — apparently time was moving slower for me than everyone else. Normal life was still happening. The world hadn’t stopped for me — which was oddly comforting.
Back up the hill I trudged, buggy somehow heavier without its passenger (apparently singing Itsy Bitsy Spider makes them lighter). Coffee in hand as ballast, I inched home. A few quiet gulps on the veranda (which sounds grand, but is just our balcony), and I surrendered to two hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. A shower acted like a reset button, and lunch was effortless: falafel wraps, olives, and pre-washed salad. Chocolate buttons made a small, indulgent cameo — a reminder that comfort is valid.
The afternoon passed in more rest, tea, and a movie with my partner. We borrowed from the library’s limited collection and watched a Pixar film. Daytime viewing was a novelty — no falling asleep halfway through like we often do at night. It became a rare moment to reconnect, chat, and most importantly, snuggle on the couch. By evening, my brain felt gradually rebooting — not sprinting, just quietly returning to life.
Why Sick Days Matter More Than We Admit
Culturally, we’re told to power through. To be resilient. To “just get on with it.” But here’s the secret: sick days aren’t weakness — they’re maintenance stops. Like taking the car in before it actually breaks down. Ignore the warning lights, and you’ll end up with something worse than a cough and a bit of fatigue.
I’ve had my fair share of ignoring signals. Once, I broke my elbow late at night and refused to do anything about it. The next day, with some clarity, I went to A&E — arm strapped up, told to rest. A forced rest day if ever there was one. Your body usually knows best; denial only drags out recovery.
Even the smallest comforts help. During this sick day, thoughts like “bring chocolate buttons” became little acts of self-care. Letting my manager know I was down via a video call — explaining I’d slipped on ice (though I’d actually walked a safer route) — added reassurance. They could see my strapped arm, and that external recognition made it easier to surrender to rest.
The Myth of the “Lost Day”
Sick days feel like they “don’t count.” No ticked boxes, no projects completed, no medals for endurance. But that’s a myth. Rest is work — just a different kind.
During this day, I had time entirely for myself: to sleep, heal, and just exist. My fluffy dressing gown became a sanctuary. Even if I tried, productivity wasn’t possible — and that’s the point. Tiny wins made the day meaningful: effortless meals, coffee sipped slowly on the balcony, chocolate buttons, and snuggling with my partner. Life didn’t collapse; the world carried on. And my body, mind, and soul thanked me for it.
The Guilt Spiral (and How My Manager Helped Me Let Go)
Guilt hit hard. I like to work. I like to be productive. I questioned if I was really sick enough. But I had planned ahead, emailing my manager the night before that I wouldn’t be in. By morning, my brain had switched off. Relief was tangible — no worrying, no planning, just permission to rest.
When I called, my manager said simply: I want your brain to be working, so take a day off. Just like that, the spiral broke. Suddenly, it was okay to rest. No judgment. Knowing I could pause, communicate, and take the day without quarm was liberating. Recovery was faster, gentler, and far more effective than pushing through.
Sick Days and Financial Independence
This is where paid sick leave quietly shines. I wasn’t losing anything financially, so I could fully embrace rest. No spiralling about pay, no fretting over whether skipping a day would leave me behind — just space to recover.
Contrast this with past jobs without paid sick leave. I’ve dragged myself into offices, performing at a fraction of my usual capacity, worried about pay, and possibly spreading illness to colleagues. Paid sick leave, and working for companies that treat employees fairly, is a blessing. It turns rest from indulgence into responsibility. Financial independence isn’t only about investments or luxuries — it’s the freedom to stop when your body says so, to nap, snack, watch movies, and return to life and work healthier, faster, and more present.
Gentle Questions for the Road
Here’s what I do now: when sick days arrive, I actually let them. I rest. I eat whatever feels easy. I stop pretending the world needs me online every second.
A few questions for you:
- What would change if you treated sick days as essential maintenance, not failures?
- When was the last time you let yourself stop without guilt?
- How much of your resistance is about the work itself — and how much is about the story you’re telling yourself?