There’s something almost universal about the dread of Monday mornings. No matter what corner of the world we live in, no matter what stage of life we’ve reached, Monday seems to carry with it a shadow that hangs over Sunday evenings like a looming cloud. It doesn’t matter if one works in an office, teaches in a school, or even enjoys the so-called freedom of retirement and even a joyful life of world travel; Mondays have a reputation, and not a good one. They are the gatekeepers of responsibility, the unwelcome reminder that another week must be faced, whether we feel ready for it or not.
For so many people, Monday mornings are synonymous with alarm clocks ringing too soon. That piercing sound is rarely kind, interrupting dreams that seemed sweeter than the reality of another commute, another round of meetings, another set of deadlines. The weekend, with its promise of leisure and choice, is cut short by the inescapable reality that we must show up. Monday never negotiates—it demands, it insists. We can bargain with ourselves, press the snooze button once or twice, but in the end, Monday wins.
Part of the dread comes from contrast. Saturdays and Sundays often carry a lighter rhythm, even if they are filled with errands and chores. There’s a psychological difference in knowing those days belong to us, however briefly. We can choose when to wake up, what to do with our time, and how to order our day. But Monday steals that choice away. Suddenly, the hours are structured around commitments we did not freely design. There is a rigidity to the schedule, a narrowing of freedom. Monday reminds us that our lives are, in many ways, not entirely our own.
The dread is also tied to anticipation. Human beings have an uncanny ability to live inside their thoughts, and Mondays often trigger the mental checklist of everything waiting for us. Emails left unanswered on Friday afternoon suddenly stare back from our inboxes. Projects that seemed distant last week are suddenly due. Even before our feet hit the floor, our minds are already racing through tasks, obligations, and responsibilities. It’s not just the weight of Monday we carry, but the whole week stretching ahead like a steep climb.
There is also something about Monday that magnifies fatigue. No matter how much rest we get, it rarely feels like enough to reset from the demands of modern life. Many people spend the weekend trying to cram in recovery—sleeping late, socializing, catching up on housework—only to find themselves more tired when Monday arrives. It feels as though we are starting a marathon with legs that haven’t quite healed from the last one. No wonder Monday feels heavier than it should.
But not all of the dread is physical or practical. There’s a psychological layer as well. Mondays remind us of routine, of sameness. The novelty of a new week rarely sparks excitement—it signals repetition. For those in jobs that lack fulfillment or joy, Monday can feel like stepping back onto a treadmill that leads nowhere. Even for those who enjoy their work, Mondays still carry the pressure of performance, of having to prove ourselves again, week after week. That pressure can be exhausting in its own right.
What makes this dread so peculiar is that it affects people who technically have no reason to fear Mondays. Retirees often confess they still feel that twinge of anxiety when Sunday evening rolls around. Old habits linger in the body. After years of waking up early, dressing for work, and showing up on time, the mind can’t fully shake the association. Monday is etched into our cultural rhythm as the day of seriousness, of responsibility, of effort. Even without a boss waiting or a desk piled high, the feeling lingers. It is as though Monday has imprinted itself on our collective psyche.
Yet, when we strip away the reputation Monday carries, it is still just another day. The sun rises the same way. Birds still sing. The world does not change its rhythm because the calendar has turned. What changes is us—our anticipation, our dread, our expectations. We project onto Monday the weight of obligation, and in doing so, we give it power. Perhaps that’s why Fridays are celebrated and Mondays are mourned. We’ve collectively decided to honor one and curse the other.
Of course, not everyone feels this way. There are people who look forward to Monday as a fresh start, a clean slate. They welcome the routine, the structure, the chance to begin again. But they are often the exception. For most, Monday signifies the loss of freedom, the beginning of effort, and the burden of another cycle. The dread, then, is less about the day itself and more about what it represents in the story of our lives.
Maybe the challenge lies in reframing Monday, not as a punishment, but as an opportunity. Easier said than done, of course. But when we see Monday as inevitable suffering, it becomes just that. When we see it as a chance to begin anew, to reset intentions, to step into possibility, it can take on a softer tone. The day itself doesn’t change, but our relationship to it can.
Still, the cultural weight of Monday is hard to shake. For many, the dread will always creep in on Sunday night, a familiar visitor knocking at the door. And maybe that’s not entirely bad. Perhaps it’s a reminder that we crave balance, that we long for more freedom, more rest, more joy in our everyday lives. If nothing else, Monday makes us aware of what we’re missing, and perhaps that awareness can push us to shape our lives in ways that feel lighter, not just on weekends, but every day of the week.
Sure, we’ve lightened the load of dreading Monday morning, considering our fulfilling lives of non-stop world travel, but, even so, on Monday mornings, for a few minutes, that feeling washes over me, after which I shake myself loose and remind myself of this extraordinary life we lead. Grateful. Very grateful.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, August 18, 2015:
