The Courage of Enjoying a Good Day: When Calm Feels Suspicious Instead of Comforting
Here’s something I don’t think we talk about nearly enough: good days can feel weird.
Thanks for reading and virtual hugs to you all.
Not dramatic. Certainly not life-changing. Just… weird. You wake up and things just feel a bit lighter, the air feels a little warmer, and instead of thinking, “Oh, how lovely,” your brain immediately squint-eyes the horizon and mutters, “Right. What’s going on here then?”
It’s like your mind doesn’t trust the silence. Like calm is suspicious. Like joy has turned up at your front door without an appointment, and you’re hesitant to let it in because you aren’t sure what it’s trying to sell you.
If you’ve lived with anxiety for a while, you will know just the feeling I am talking about and I bet you are nodding your head and thinking, yes, that makes total sense. Why?
Well, your brain has been on high alert for so long that it doesn’t quite know how to handle the quiet. You’ve spent so much time braced for the 'other shoe to drop' that when it doesn't, you just stand there, awkward and hovering, like you’ve reached the front of a three-mile Post Office queue and suddenly forgotten what it was you were trying to post.
What is it about that phantom calm that feels so unsettling?
It’s not because you’ve suddenly become a pessimist or because you’re being ungrateful. It’s simply that your brain is stuck on a well-worn path. You’ve been blindsided by life before, so now, even when the sun is out, you keep your coat on and your shoes laced up—just in case.
You’ve learned the hard way that the quiet can be a bit of a trickster. So, instead of relaxing, you’re "jinx-proofing" your life. You’re holding your breath, convinced that if you dare to actually enjoy the sunshine, the universe will take it as a personal challenge to send a thunderstorm your way. You aren't being difficult; you’re just a person who has stopped trusting the quiet because the stillness is usually where the surprises hide.
Now, if you are anything like me, the very idea of ‘enjoying a good day’ feels like an immense amount of pressure. You can almost hear your brain having a row with itself: ‘What? A whole day? That’s sixteen hours you expect me to stay relaxed?’ Let’s face it, that is a massive stretch of time to ask a twitchy mind to simply ‘let go.’ Just the thought of that much unstructured peace is enough to make your brain want to hide behind the sofa. So, instead of trying to conquer the entire day in one go, maybe we can break it down—before your mind decides, ‘Actually, no thanks, I’d like to panic now.’
So, don’t try to ‘do’ the whole day. Lower the bar until it’s practically on the floor. Don’t worry about the next sixteen hours; just aim for a tiny window of ease that doesn’t ask anything of you—something the length of a decent song on the radio or a hot cup of tea.
Think of it like checking the water temperature with your elbow instead of doing a spectacular cannonball into the deep end. There is no performance here, and you aren’t auditioning for the role of ‘Happiest Person in Britain.’ You’re just taking a very small, very quiet step toward feeling okay.
Let’s be real: enjoying a good moment when you’re prone to anxiety isn't effortless. It isn't as simple as ‘just relaxing’ (if only) or ‘stopping the overthinking’ (a truly adorable suggestion that has never once worked in the history of humankind).
It is the active, brave choice to let yourself soften even while your brain is hovering nearby, whispering, ‘Careful now.’ It’s allowing a nice moment to exist without interrogating it like a suspect in a police lineup. It’s giving yourself permission to feel okay without demanding a signed, witnessed, and notarised guarantee that things will stay this way forever. It’s just letting 'now' be 'now'.
So, how do we actually do it—in real, human terms?
It starts with acknowledging the wobble. When that suspicious feeling creeps in, you don't have to fight it; just label it. You can tell yourself, ‘I’m having a nice moment and my brain is a bit unsure about it. That’s okay.’ It takes the pressure off. It’s a way of telling your mind that this weird stillness isn't a signal of actual danger.
You also have to keep the good small. You really don’t have to 'embrace the day'—that’s far too much pressure. Sometimes enjoying a moment just looks like drinking your tea while it’s actually still warm, noticing the quiet, or letting your shoulders drop half an inch. You aren't aiming for euphoria; you're just aiming for 'alright.'
When your brain starts acting like an overexcited puppy—trying to sprint six months into the hypothetical future to look for problems—you can gently whistle it back. Remind yourself that ‘Right now, this moment is okay.’ It’s not a promise for forever, and it’s not a guarantee of a perfect week. It’s just the simple, honest truth of this particular second.
And please, let the joy be casual. You don’t need to hold onto it with a death grip or make it 'mean' something profound. Think of a good mood like a neighbor who drops by for five minutes and leaves before you’ve even offered a biscuit. You don’t have to make a fuss; just let it pop in and out.
Finally, on these gentler days, I find it helps to keep a bit of a log. Jot down one thing that felt a bit lighter or one tiny thing that didn't hurt as much as usual. Not as a project, but just as a bit of data for your future self—a quiet reminder that the weather did break once, and it likely will again.
You don’t have to trust the day. You just have to (albeit grudgingly😝) admit that, for right now, things are alright. You can keep your foot on the brake and your guard up; you're allowed to experience the quiet without having to sign a contract saying you believe in it.
That’s not a failure to relax; it’s progress. It’s the slow, shaky process of learning how to live again, rather than just surviving the week. And if you forget—because we all do—let this be the note you pull out of your pocket:
Good days aren’t a trap. They’re allowed
Think of it like the good old British summer. You know it’s not going to last, and you’re fairly certain a cloud is gathering somewhere over the Midlands just to spite you—but that doesn't mean you can’t enjoy the ten minutes of sunshine while you’ve got the chance. Put the kettle on, sit in the light, and let the future worry about itself for a bit.
Here are two more pieces you can take your time with:
Happiness — A Dirty Word: Why Feeling Good Can Trigger Fear
The Emotional Minefield: Why It's Okay to Be Grateful and Conflicted
