Sunday Scaries

Oh, they're a thing.

I’d never heard the expression Sunday Scaries before Olivia, my son Micah’s girlfriend, mentioned it last week. It was news, though on a gut level I have known the Scaries for as long as I can remember.

Even when I was raising my own kids and school on Monday ushered in five days of comparative peace and quiet, an existential dread brought on as the weekend came to a close set in. On many Sundays of my life the Scaries would seem irrational, but they are inevitable as gravity. Every week, come Sunday, come apprehension.

As a child, Sunday Scaries would bubble up when I daydreamed during Sunday school. Even Sunday distractions, like The Wonderful World of Disney, one of the handful of TV shows my parents allowed me to watch, proved ineffective. Distractions are, well, distractions, and the Scaries would always circle back, like hungry coyotes around a wagon train.

I used to think I was alone in my misery every second half of Sunday, but finding out so many feel the same way that there’s a whimsical name for it makes me feel better. Sort of.

My guess is that this feeling combines separation anxiety with fear of the unknown, and it’s hardwired into most of us from childhood. We all crave safe haven, and life is unpredictable. That’s the human condition. Along with everyone, I’m currently undergoing the only known remedy for the Sunday Scaries: Monday.