I Hate Mondays

During COVID, I was working in mental health.

At the time, there were some genuine benefits to being in an industry that had suddenly become more critical than ever. There was purpose in the work. People needed support, and what we were doing mattered.

It was also an incredibly difficult time for society, and I don't want to make light of what so many people went through.

Like many people, when working from home first began, there was almost a novelty to it.

Until then, I'd only worked from home in spits and spurts. I naively assumed we'd do it for a few weeks, everyone would make the best of it, and eventually we'd collectively laugh about that strange period when the whole world worked from their spare bedrooms.

As we all know, that wasn't quite how it played out.

Living in Sydney, we had it relatively good compared with some other parts of Australia — and certainly compared with parts of the world.

And if I'd been the only person working from home, I might even have enjoyed it.

For a while.

But this was also the period when I discovered that my dread of Mondays could move well beyond the comical Garfield version.

Over weeks and months, Monday stopped being something to joke about.

It became something I genuinely dreaded.

We Were Busier Than Ever

More was being asked of our team.

Companies were laying people off, which meant more people needed support.

People were struggling with isolation, uncertainty, relationships, work and their own mental health.

So we got busier.

We could only provide many services by video or phone, which understandably frustrated people who wanted to sit face-to-face with someone.

So complaints increased.

Which meant more calls.

Which meant more work.

Then a customer made a relatively simple mistake.

A phone number that was only supposed to receive around five calls a day was accidentally published on a very public website.

Almost overnight, five calls became thousands.

And behind every number on a report was a person trying to help another person.

We were stretched.

Really stretched.

One Very Long Friday

There is one particular weekend I still remember.

I started work at around 8am on Friday.

I finished at about 4am Saturday.

I grabbed a few hours' sleep, then jumped into a tender pitch that consumed most of the weekend.

Meetings.

Work.

Rework.

More work.

Changes.

Another version.

Another meeting.

And before I knew it, Monday had rolled around again.

There hadn't really been a weekend.

Just a brief interruption between one working week and the next.

And when you spend your working life pouring into other people, while simultaneously losing many of the things you normally use to recharge yourself, eventually something has to give.

We couldn’t gather at church.

Travel was gone.

Seeing friends was restricted.

Going out disappeared.

Work was physically inside the house.

There was no commute separating one part of life from another.

The laptop closed, but somehow work never really left.

And gradually:

“I hate Mondays”

became:

“I hate this week.”

Then:

“I hate this month.”

And eventually:

“I hate this role.”

Maybe Monday Isn't the Problem

Garfield famously hates Mondays.

It's funny because most of us understand the joke.

We've all had a Sunday evening where we wished the weekend could stretch just a little longer.

We've all had a Monday morning when the alarm felt particularly offensive.

We've all had weeks we'd rather not start.

That's normal.

But I learned something during that period.

A bad Monday is normal.

Repeatedly dreading Monday is data.

Sometimes that data simply tells you that you're tired.

Sometimes you've had a difficult week.

Sometimes you're carrying something personally that has nothing to do with your job.

Sometimes you need a holiday.

But sometimes Monday is telling you something more important.

Maybe the work that once energised you no longer does.

Maybe your values and your environment have slowly moved apart.

Maybe the role has changed while the title stayed the same.

Maybe you've stopped growing.

Maybe you've become so good at carrying everything that nobody has noticed how heavy it has become.

Or maybe somewhere along the way, you stopped asking yourself a very simple question:

Do I still want to be here?

The Answer Isn't Always "Leave"

There's a danger in stories like this.

It's easy to conclude:

If you don't like Mondays, quit your job.

I don't believe that.

There have been difficult seasons in roles that I absolutely loved.

Leadership isn't supposed to be comfortable all the time.

Sometimes the answer is not a resignation letter.

Sometimes it's a conversation.

Sometimes it's a boundary.

Sometimes it's asking for help.

Sometimes it's delegating something you've stubbornly held onto for too long.

Sometimes it's reconnecting with the purpose behind the work.

Sometimes it's changing the way you're working rather than changing where you're working.

And sometimes you simply need rest.

But there are also times when the dread is trying to tell you that something genuinely needs to change.

The difficult part is working out which one it is.

Listen Before You Fix

When we're uncomfortable, most of us want to move quickly to solutions.

Find another job.

Take some leave.

Change teams.

Ask for a promotion.

Push harder.

Work less.

But before solving the problem, it can be worth understanding it.

What exactly are you dreading?

Is it the work?

The people?

Your manager?

The pressure?

The lack of pressure?

The culture?

The commute?

The sense that you're capable of more?

The sense that you're giving more than you have left to give?

Or is Monday simply the moment when something you've managed not to think about all weekend becomes impossible to ignore?

Those are very different problems.

And they require very different solutions.

What Is Monday Trying to Tell You?

Looking back, I don't resent that period.

It was hard.

But it taught me a lot about leadership, capacity, boundaries and what happens when capable people keep saying, “I'm fine” long after they're no longer fine.

It also taught me to pay attention to patterns.

One awful Monday doesn't tell you much.

But when Sunday evening changes your mood every week...

When Monday morning creates a knot in your stomach...

When you find yourself counting the days until Friday before Monday has even finished...

It might be worth getting curious.

Not panicked.

Not impulsive.

Curious.

Because sometimes the feeling you're trying to get rid of is actually trying to tell you something.

You may not need to change careers.

You may not need to leave your organisation.

You may not even need to change roles.

But perhaps you do need to change something.

So if you're sitting there on a Sunday evening, thinking about tomorrow and quietly muttering:

“I hate Mondays…”

maybe don't dismiss it quite so quickly.

Ask yourself:

What is Monday trying to tell me?