Absolutely Not: A Sovereignty Story

Something shifted in my reality in early June 2026. June 7th, to be exact.

I was working an afternoon‑into‑evening shift, the one I always call “the closing shift,” because honestly… that shift has been the catalyst for so much of my workplace nuance and identity work this past year. Being a part‑time sushi cook and prep worker in a new city, in a new state, has been its own kind of character arc. But that night, something else was happening.

I started feeling that familiar “under the weather” sensation. The kind where you pause mid‑task and think, Dang… am I getting sick? There were no symptoms yet. No proof. Just this faint malaise, like my body was moving through molasses while the rest of the world stayed on normal speed. It was so subtle I thought I was imagining it.

But as the evening went on, the feeling got louder. This was the onset of a cold virus. Cue the downward spiral saxophone solo.

Thankfully, I had Monday and Tuesday off.

Being new to food service, a role I landed in after I had all but given up on the current job market, I made sure from the beginning to secure two consecutive rest days as a part‑time employee. Weekends are where most part‑time hours get scheduled, so I kept those open and protected Monday and Tuesday like sacred ground.

And on this particular evening, my current self was silently thanking my earlier self for creating that boundary. I was going to need those two uninterrupted days if I had any hope of returning to work that coming Wednesday.

Sure enough, when I went to bed Sunday night and woke up Monday morning, I could feel the faint hint of a low‑grade fever even though the thermometer insisted I was “normal.” I checked multiple times. Nope. No fever.

By the end of Monday, I was blowing my nose nonstop. Thankfully, my appetite was still intact. But just in case, I steered away from dairy, ate aplenty popsicles, and drank an abundance of tea (ground ivy being one of them) picked from my own backyard weeks earlier. (Another small moment where my earlier self-handed my current self exactly what she needed.)

I still had enough energy to tend to my little garden, my second‑year spring experiment, something to keep my mind off my symptoms for a little while. Monday was mostly a “take it easy” day.

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By Tuesday, I was already ready for this mild head cold to be over. I also had a light suspicion that this flare‑up might actually be allergies, something I never had to deal with until the past two years, particularly after a doctor at an annual checkup looked in my ears and casually uttered the word “allergies,” as if I had known this my whole life. Which, honestly, would explain some of my lingering fatigue issues.

So, I decided Tuesday would be a good thrift day. I needed to reclaim my days off as my own, plus Tuesdays are $2 day at my closest Goodwill. I needed to wander a bit and do anything that brought me joy. And maybe pick up a couple more work pants and tops to replace the worn‑out pieces in my uniform. And maybe, just maybe, find a few spring/summer dresses or donated craft materials I could use.

It was a much‑needed distraction wandering through Goodwill, touching fabrics, scanning shelves, letting my mind drift toward anything that felt like joy. By later that Tuesday afternoon, while fighting off a nap (something I do regularly when I don’t want to lose momentum or miss a chance to “do something,” especially for myself), I felt the shift.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t mystical in a movie‑scene way. It was more like a righteous frustration rising up from somewhere honest: I was sick… and I was feeling alone. Again.

In that moment, I was on the mend physically, but emotionally I was staring straight at the truth: I was alone with my feelings. Yes, I’m married - remarried, to be specific, but still newly married, and sometimes I still feel alone. If I’m being honest, it’s been a theme. A growing awareness. Something I’ve only recently begun to acknowledge and gently turn around. But in that moment, I was still raw inside it.

“Of course I am alone,” I heard myself think. Not in a defeated way, but in a painfully obvious way, like naming a fact that had been sitting in the room for months.

And then something different happened.

I didn’t shrink. I didn’t spiral. I didn’t go silent or numb or inward the way I used to.

Instead, I got clearer. Bolder. More connected to myself than I had been in a long time. It wasn’t the same version of the “alone cycle” I had lived through this past year. I wasn’t disappearing into it. I was present inside it.

Somewhere between the cold, the allergies, the popsicles, the thrift store aisles, and the quiet of my own thoughts… I realized I wasn’t the same.

Something in me had shifted.

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

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That was the new voice I heard next. Loud, clear, and coming from a place inside me I didn’t even know had a microphone. I turned my attention back to my Tuesday rhythm, something I created months ago to anchor myself in my weeks. But now, it wasn’t just a routine. It had become a pivotal emotional anchor.

I washed and prepped my thrifted work attire for my return to work on Wednesday, and that “ABSOLUTELY NOT” kept echoing through me. It wasn’t about the clothes. It wasn’t about the cold. It wasn’t even about the loneliness.

It applied to everything that had been quietly draining me this past year.

It was a reclamation of my inner sovereignty, something I had never fully understood, let alone embodied in this new way. But suddenly, anything and everything that wasn’t true, wasn’t aligned, or wasn’t bringing me real joy was being rooted out of my emotional sphere.

Relationships or relational dynamics that lacked presence and depth, even the ones I loved dearly, no longer required me to carry all the emotional undercurrents.

Overfunctioning in my work environments, where people praised my ability to function in chaos while simultaneously denying me the structure and consistency I needed to thrive, that was no longer acceptable.

Shrinking myself so much that my personal joy was becoming less and less experienced… stifling my natural creative and vibrant nature… dimming my light so others wouldn’t feel uncomfortable…

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Something in me had risen. Something in me had returned. Something in me had remembered itself.

And I wasn’t going back.

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The few days that followed were surprisingly whimsical. I stepped into work with less tension, not taking on more than what was needed. I had nothing to prove here that I hadn’t already given and my work ethic wasn’t compromised by stepping back. If anything, it created a clearer boundary around what belonged to the workplace to figure out, not me.

I left on time. I omitted inessential tasks. I refused anything that would take me over my scheduled hours.

I put myself back at the center of my days doing what I needed and wanted to do for me first.

I started having more fun with my personal style. Buying myself more things instead of denying little luxuries because “I don’t make that much money.” Going places whenever I wanted or felt called to. Tending meticulously to my garden. Letting joy be a daily visitor instead of an occasional guest.

And most importantly, I watched the relationships around me, for better or worse, but honestly, it’s all been better. When I shifted, everything around me shifted too.

This is only a glimpse into my new reality. And dare I say… I’m even thankful for my “allergies” for the quick and quiet revelation... the end of an old cycle.

Now, I come into each day with a new perspective, expecting to experience my life with the fullness of me present in who I am. Every day isn’t perfectly aligned, but the overall theme of sovereignty has undeniably moved to the forefront.

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If this resonates with you in any way, or if you’re new to this blog or this post, I invite you to read my re‑introduction on the Welcome Page. The posts I write from here forward will carry a different energy, more aligned, more present, more me. I’m already feeling nudged to reshape the pages on this site to reflect this new season. And if you’d like gentle updates in your inbox a few times a month - new posts, new pages, or small notes from my creative life, you can leave your email, and I’ll add you to the list.