Bella Imperia: The things I don’t say

There are some days when I do not want to think at all. I do not want to open the endless scroll of my to-do list and measure myself against everything unfinished. I do not want to see what still needs to be cleaned, what I forgot yesterday, what I need to remember tomorrow, or what new responsibility has quietly added itself to the pile overnight.

Some days, I do not want to be the dependable one. I do not want to be the planner, the organizer, the problem solver, the person who always knows what comes next. I do not want to be the one who keeps all the moving pieces from falling apart. I do not want to carry the invisible weight of remembering everything for everyone.

Some days, I simply want to exist.

I want to sleep until the sun is high and the morning has long since passed me by. I want to wake slowly, without alarms, without urgency, without anyone needing something from me before my feet even touch the floor. I want to wander with no destination, no timeline, no reason beyond movement itself. To drive roads I have never taken, to turn corners on instinct, to let the day unfold however it pleases.

I want to lie on the trampoline in the backyard and stare at the sky until the world feels small again. To watch clouds drift lazily overhead and let my biggest concern be wondering whether that one is a cumulonimbus cloud or if I have gotten the name wrong again. To laugh quietly at myself and then keep watching anyway.

I want to stretch out in the hammock while the rain falls around me, listening to the steady rhythm of drops hitting leaves, rooflines, and earth. I want the sound of it to wash over me until every anxious thought dissolves into background noise. Until my mind finally grows quiet.

No responsibilities.
No deadlines.
No appointments.
No list waiting on the counter.
Nothing demanding my attention.
Nothing asking me to give more than I have left.

Just stillness.

There is a strange guilt that comes with wanting nothing. We are taught to measure our worth by productivity, by how much we can carry, by how many boxes we can check before the day is done. Rest is treated like something to earn instead of something we need. Peace becomes a reward instead of a right.

But maybe these days are not laziness. Maybe they are signals. Maybe they are the soul’s way of saying, you have been carrying too much for too long.

Maybe needing to pause does not mean we are failing. Maybe it means we are human.

So on those days, I try to remind myself that there is value in simply being. In breathing deeply. In letting dishes wait. In allowing laundry to remain unfolded. In choosing clouds over chores, rain over rushing, silence over striving.

The world will keep spinning for a few hours without me holding it together.

And perhaps that is the lesson I need most:

I do not always have to be useful to be worthy.
I do not always have to be productive to deserve peace.
Sometimes, I am allowed to just be.

And maybe someday I will truthfully believe it.

-Bella Imperia