Some days are sunshine and steady footing. some days are a throat punch kind of day.
Not the kind where you actually want to hurt anyone. Let’s be clear. I’m not violent. I can’t fight. I’m not angry at a specific person.
It’s more like an old Ally McBeal moment where your mind runs a ridiculous little fantasy just to cope with the audacity of being alive that day.
A throat punch kind of day is when you feel unseen.
When your presence feels smaller than it should.
When the quiet work you’ve been doing doesn’t seem to register anywhere but inside your own chest.
You still get up.
You still show up.
You still do the “I’m fine” routine with impressive professionalism.
But underneath it all, grief hums. And sometimes grief doesn’t cry. Sometimes it gets irritated.
It’s never the big things. It’s the small, stupid stuff that sneaks up on you.
It’s the person behind you breathing like they’re training for a wind instrument.
It’s the gum chewing that somehow has surround sound.
It’s standing in the grocery store line holding one item, just one, feeling efficient and proud of yourself, only to realize you’ve been placed behind someone buying a full cart of groceries who appears to be paying in theoretical pennies.
Not literal pennies.
But the energy is pennies.
You stand there watching time bend.
You start doing math you didn’t ask for.
You think, all I wanted was this one thing, and now I’ve entered a waiting room for patience I did not consent to.
On a normal day, you shrug it off.
Today, your nervous system files a formal complaint with the universe.
That’s what a throat punch kind of day really is.
Not rage. Not violence.
Just the exhaustion of being strong when things keep quietly falling apart.
So yes, I’m saying it out loud.
It’s a throat punch kind of day.
Not okay to act on it.
Completely okay to name it.
Because naming it is how you stay human without hardening into something you’re not.
Here’s the part that matters most.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Today doesn’t get to define your character.
It doesn’t get to write the whole story.
It’s just a page. A rough one. One you turn.
If you’ve had one of these days, I see you.
Drink some water. Step outside. Laugh at something absurd.
Let today pass without letting it move in permanently.
You’re allowed to be annoyed.
You’re allowed to be tired.
And you’re still allowed to believe tomorrow will feel different.
Thanks for reading,
William Rochelle, but you can call me Bill.
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