There are days when I wake up feeling like a woman who could run a small country before lunch. I stretch, I sip my ice cold water, I glance at my to‑do list, and suddenly I’m possessed by the spirit of a hyper competent CEO who color codes her life and thrives on productivity. I’m ready to reorganize my closet, write a chapter, answer emails, go for a walk, hydrate like a responsible adult, tackle work emails, morning meetings, the whole fantasy. And then, without warning, my body steps in like a tired middle manager and says, “Actually… we’re not doing any of that today.”

Sometimes lupus just shuts the whole operation down. No meeting. No memo. No courtesy message. One moment I’m a woman with ambition. The next I’m a Victorian child who has been slightly inconvenienced and must now lie down. This is what I like to refer to the emotional whiplash of wanting to do everything while my body loudly whispers, “lol, not today.” Lupus can turn your body into the flakiest friend you know. It’s almost comical how fast the shift happens. I’ll be standing in the kitchen, full of hope and electrolytes, planning my day like a responsible adult. And then boom, my body hits the brakes. Suddenly I’m horizontal, staring at the ceiling, wondering who exactly I thought I was thirty minutes ago. My brain says, “Let’s be iconic today.” My body says, “We will be doing one thing today and it is existing.” It’s giving betrayal. It’s giving sabotage. It’s giving “I didn’t approve this PTO request.”

Every single time, I try to bargain with my body. Try to convince it that I can just do a little bit, that I can do what I need to while sitting down instead of laying down, that I can work from my phone if my brain can just concentrate on anything but how awful I feel. Lupus denies me almost every time. At some point, I just have to accept that my body is not a machine. She is a moody, dramatic creature who requires snacks, hydration, and the occasional moment of lying face down on the bed for no reason other than I am unexplainably exhausted and hurting so bad I can’t think about anything else.

Here’s the part that gets me every time…..the guilt. The moment my body cancels plans, my brain signs me up for the guilt Olympics. Suddenly I’m spiraling. “Why am I like this?” “Everyone has problems and they seem fine.” Maybe I should just suck it up and push through.” “I’m just being lazy.” “I probably just need a new vitamin.” “Maybe I just need a new body.” Meanwhile my brain is telling me to hide in the corner, eating crackers, while whispering to me that, “You’re tired, babe. That’s it. You can’t help it.”

Plot twist, my body isn’t the villain. Lupus is. I hate admitting this, but sometimes the shutdown is the only thing saving me from myself. Because if I am left unsupervised, I will overschedule, overcommit, overperform, overextend, and then wonder why I’m emotionally held together by lip gloss and vibes. My body isn’t sabotaging me. She’s protecting me from the version of myself who thinks burnout is a personality trait. The uneasy truth I’m learning, albeit slowly, is I must stop fighting lupus. On days my body cancels before I do I need to stop fighting her, stop guilt spiraling, stop treating rest like a moral failure, and stop acting like I’m a laptop that just needs a software update. Instead, I am going to practice tiny rituals that make me feel good, slower mornings, gentler expectations, snacks as medicine, and the radical idea that rest is not something I have to earn.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not aesthetic. It’s not the most productive. But it’s real and it keeps me functional. If your body cancels plans too then just know you are not broken, you are not dramatic, and you are not “too much”. You’re just a human with limits and a body that sometimes knows better than your ambition. Lupus can be a real bitch, and it may feel like she’s trying to ruin you but remember when your body decides it’s a relaxing day, it’s because it’s trying to save you. Even if it ruins the aesthetic. Even if it wasn’t on the schedule. Even if it feels like betrayal. Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is absolutely nothing.

XOXO,

Savi Monroe