When I Start Fighting a Good Day

As I reflect on my Saturday off from Queensland Health and think about my day and week, I have found myself thinking about something that I do not particularly like admitting.

I can sabotage my own peace.

Not always.

Not deliberately.

Sometimes I can be having a genuinely good day and somewhere deep inside my own mind something starts moving.

A thought.

Then another.

A memory.

A possibility.

A concern that wasn't there five minutes earlier.

Suddenly my mind starts searching.

Searching for something.

Anything.

Something that might go wrong.

Something I might have forgotten.

Something I should have done differently.

Something somebody might have meant by what they said.

Something that could happen tomorrow.

Something from yesterday.

Something from ten years ago.

It is almost as though my mind becomes suspicious of peace.

That is the thought that has been sitting with me today.

I even struggled with it today.

Why do I sometimes struggle to simply have a good day?

Why, when everything seems reasonably okay, does some part of me begin looking for the crack?

Why can I sit quietly and feel grateful, only for my mind to suddenly introduce a problem that did not exist when I woke up?

And perhaps the hardest question of all is this.

Do I sometimes create mental warfare because peace itself has become unfamiliar?

That question has been confronting me.

Because I have spent a significant part of my life surviving difficult things.

Hospitals.

Illness.

Operations.

Addiction.

Heartbreak.

Loss.

Disappointment.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

There have been seasons where being alert was not a luxury.

It was survival.

You learned to pay attention.

You learned to notice changes.

You learned to read a room.

You learned to feel temperature shifts in everyday situations.

You learned to think about what could happen next.

You learned that something could change very quickly.

Perhaps when you have lived like that for long enough, your mind does not always know when the emergency is over.

Maybe it keeps standing guard.

Even when nobody asked it to.

Even when the house is quiet.

Even when the day has gone well.

Even when there is nothing immediately wrong.

There is still a part of you listening for the next alarm.

I think that is what I have been recognising in myself.

Sometimes I am not actually dealing with a problem.

I am dealing with my expectation that there must be one.

And there is a difference.

A big difference.

Because if I believe something is wrong, I can try to fix it.

But what do you do when your mind simply feels uncomfortable because nothing is wrong?

That is where things become strange.

I can have a good day at work.

I can come home.

I can sit down.

I can have a coffee.

I can think about the things I have accomplished.

I can look at my life and genuinely feel grateful.

And then my mind can quietly whisper:

Yes, but...

That little phrase can change everything.

Yes, but what about this?

Yes, but what if that happens?

Yes, but remember what happened last time?

Yes, but you could lose this.

Yes, but maybe you are getting too comfortable.

Yes, but maybe you have forgotten something.

Yes, but maybe tomorrow will be different.

It is amazing how quickly the mind can turn gratitude into investigation.

I start examining the good day instead of experiencing it.

I start analysing peace instead of enjoying it.

I start looking for reasons why I should not trust the moment.

And before long, I have moved from living my life to monitoring it.

That is exhausting.

I know that because I have done it.

More than once.

There is something almost cruel about being able to stand inside a good moment and still feel the need to prepare yourself for something bad.

But I don't think it is always cruelty.

Sometimes I think it is conditioning.

When you have experienced enough unexpected pain, your mind learns a lesson.

Don't get too comfortable.

Don't relax completely.

Don't assume everything is okay.

Keep watching.

Keep thinking.

Keep preparing and bracing.

Because the last time you relaxed, something happened.

The last time you trusted, you were disappointed.

The last time you believed things were finally settling down, life changed again.

So perhaps the mind begins believing that worry is protection.

Maybe if I think about everything that could go wrong, I will somehow be ready when it does.

Maybe if I rehearse the conversation enough, I won't be hurt.

Maybe if I imagine the worst outcome, it won't surprise me.

Maybe if I keep one foot outside the good moment, I won't fall as far if it disappears.

But there is a problem with living like that.

You can become so determined not to be surprised by pain that you become incapable of being fully present in peace.

And I think that is one of the things I am learning.

And I believe some of this gets written deeply into the nervous system.

Worry can disguise itself as preparation.

Overthinking can disguise itself as wisdom.

Hypervigilance can disguise itself as responsibility.

And sometimes what looks like careful thinking is actually fear wearing a very intelligent disguise.

I know my own mind well enough now to recognise some of its patterns.

I can take one completely ordinary thought and build an entire house around it.

A sentence becomes a possibility.

The possibility becomes a concern.

The concern becomes a scenario.

The scenario becomes an imagined future.

And suddenly I am emotionally responding to something that has not even happened.

Nothing changed outside my head.

Everything changed inside it.

That is the frightening part.

The mind does not always need an external event to create an internal storm.

Sometimes it can manufacture one entirely by itself.

And I think that is what I mean when I talk about mental warfare.

Not some dramatic battle that everybody can see.

Something much quieter.

A private conflict.

A thought against another thought.

Hope against fear.

Trust against suspicion.

Peace against anticipation.

Faith against the endless demand for certainty.

And sometimes I can sit in the middle of all of it wondering why I am exhausted when nothing actually happened.

Because something did happen.

It happened inside me.

There are days where my mind seems determined to argue with everything good.

I can recognise something beautiful and immediately find the weakness in it.

I can receive encouragement and immediately question whether it was sincere.

I can enjoy a good week and immediately worry about what next week will bring.

I can accomplish something and immediately move the goalpost.

I can experience peace and immediately wonder how long it will last.

It is almost as though my mind says:

Don't celebrate yet.

There is still something to worry about.

I wonder how many other people live like this.

How many people are sitting in perfectly ordinary homes tonight fighting battles nobody knows are happening.

Their families think they are fine.

Their workmates think they are fine.

Their social media says they are fine.

They laugh.

They answer messages.

They go to work.

They make dinner.

They watch television.

They go to bed.

And inside their own minds, they are fighting wars nobody can see.

I know something about that.

I have become very good at functioning.

I can work while thinking.

I can talk while thinking.

I can pray while thinking.

I can even read Scripture while my mind is somewhere completely different.

Sometimes the hardest thing is not stopping the thoughts.

It is noticing that they are happening.

Because you can live inside a thought pattern for so long that it begins to feel like your personality.

You start saying:

That's just how I think.

That's just who I am.

I'm analytical.

I'm a deep thinker.

I'm cautious.

I'm realistic.

My brain seems to operate in systems.

And perhaps some of those things are true.

But there is a difference between being thoughtful and being trapped inside thought.

There is a difference between discernment and suspicion.

There is a difference between preparation and fear.

There is a difference between reflection and rumination.

I am still learning where those lines are.

And sometimes I cross them.

Sometimes I know I have crossed them and today I did.

The strange thing is that I can sometimes recognise the pattern only after I have spent hours inside it.

I look back and think:

Why did I do that?

Why did I allow one thought to consume so much of my day?

Why did I take something that was actually good and turn it into something I needed to defend myself from?

And maybe the answer is not that I wanted to destroy the good day.

Maybe some part of me was simply afraid to trust it.

That is a harder truth.

Because self-sabotage sounds deliberate.

It sounds like we are consciously destroying something good.

But sometimes self-sabotage is an old survival mechanism that no longer knows it is unemployed.

The danger has changed.

The person has changed.

The circumstances have changed.

But the mechanism remains.

Still scanning.

Still preparing.

Still protecting.

Still whispering:

Be careful.

I have spent enough time thinking about my past to understand why that might happen.

There were periods of my life where circumstances could change dramatically.

Health could change.

Relationships could change.

My own decisions could change everything.

There were moments where I genuinely did not know what the next day would bring.

When you live through enough uncertainty, certainty can become an obsession.

You want to know.

You want to know what happens next.

You want to know whether the person will stay.

You want to know whether the opportunity will work.

You want to know whether your health will hold.

You want to know whether the prayer will be answered.

You want to know whether the good season will last.

But life does not give us that information.

And perhaps faith is partly learning to live without it.

That is difficult for me.

Because I like understanding things.

I like connecting dots.

I like seeing the pattern.

I like knowing where something is going.

But sometimes there is no pattern I can see.

Sometimes there is simply today.

And today can be good.

Maybe I need to let it be good.

That sounds simple.

It isn't.

Because sometimes allowing a good day to simply be a good day requires more trust than preparing for disaster does.

If I worry, I feel like I am doing something.

If I analyse, I feel like I am doing something.

If I predict, I feel like I am doing something.

But if I simply receive the day?

That requires surrender.

And surrender can feel dangerously close to vulnerability.

I think that is why this has been sitting so heavily with me.

Maybe I don't always sabotage peace because I hate peace.

Maybe I simply operate better in chaos.

Maybe chaos feels familiar.

Maybe uncertainty gives my mind something to solve.

Maybe peace leaves me with nothing to fix.

And perhaps that is why peace can feel strangely uncomfortable.

Maybe I sabotage it because peace asks me to stop controlling the future.

And I am still learning how to do that.

I think about my faith here too.

Because I can believe in God and still behave as though everything depends on me.

I can pray:

God, I trust You.

Then spend the next three hours mentally trying to solve the problem I just gave Him.

There is something almost comical about that when I step back and look at it.

I hand God the burden.

Then five minutes later I pick it back up.

I say:

Actually, I might just carry this again.

Just in case.

And yet God has never asked me to predict tomorrow.

He has asked me to trust Him today.

That is different.

There is a reason Jesus spoke so often about today.

Daily bread.

Tomorrow has enough trouble of its own.

Do not worry about tomorrow.

These aren't instructions to become careless.

They are invitations to stop living in a future that has not happened.

I think I have spent too much time visiting futures that do not exist.

Imagining conversations that haven't happened.

Preparing for losses that haven't occurred.

Feeling emotions about outcomes I have no evidence will happen.

And then wondering why I am tired.

Maybe I am tired because I keep living days twice.

Once in my imagination.

Then again when they actually happen.

Sometimes I even live them ten times.

That isn't wisdom.

That's exhaustion.

So today, sitting here on a Saturday, I am trying something different.

I am noticing the good.

Not analysing it.

Not testing it.

Not asking how long it will last.

Just noticing it.

I had a week.

I worked.

I showed up.

I did what I needed to do.

There were things that went well.

There were things that were difficult.

There were moments I handled well.

There were moments I could have handled better.

That is life.

And maybe I don't need to turn every week into a verdict on myself.

Maybe I can simply say:

It was a week.

And now it is Saturday.

The sun is still coming up.

I am still here.

There is coffee.

There is another day.

There are people I love.

There is work waiting next week.

There are books waiting to be written.

There are things I still want to build.

There are questions I still don't have answers for.

And somehow, despite everything, there is peace available right here.

Not perfect peace.

Not some supernatural feeling that makes every concern disappear.

Just enough peace to stop fighting the moment.

That may be what I need to learn.

I don't need to win every battle my mind starts.

Some thoughts don't need a response.

Some fears don't need investigation.

Some possibilities don't deserve my emotional energy.

Some memories can remain memories.

Some questions can remain unanswered.

Some good days can simply be good days.

That last one is harder than it sounds.

Because sometimes I think we believe we have to earn peace before we can enjoy it.

We wait until everything is resolved.

Until the finances are sorted.

Until the relationship is perfect.

Until the health concern is gone.

Until the project is finished.

Until the future is certain.

But that day may never come.

There will always be another thing.

Another appointment.

Another responsibility.

Another question.

Another uncertainty.

If peace is postponed until life becomes completely predictable, we may spend our entire lives waiting for it.

And I don't want to do that.

I have spent enough years surviving.

I don't want survival to become the only way I know how to live.

There is a difference between surviving a life and receiving one.

I think I am learning how to receive mine.

The good days.

The ordinary days.

The boring days.

The difficult days.

The days where nothing spectacular happens.

Maybe those are not wasted days.

Maybe they are gifts.

Maybe peace does not need to be dramatic to be real.

Maybe happiness does not need to be defended against tomorrow.

Maybe gratitude can exist without a guarantee.

And perhaps most importantly, maybe I can stop punishing today for things that happened yesterday.

That one hurts.

Because sometimes I bring old experiences into new rooms.

I assume new people will hurt me because somebody else did.

I assume new opportunities will fail because another one did.

I assume peace will disappear because another peaceful season eventually ended.

But that isn't fair.

Not to the present.

And perhaps not to myself either.

The past taught me lessons.

Slowly my wounds are becoming scars.

It does not get to dictate every future possibility.

There are things I need to remember.

There are things I need to learn from.

There are wounds that deserve attention.

But I don't need to keep reopening every wound just to prove it happened.

That is something I am learning.

And perhaps that is where Jesus meets me in all of this.

Not by shouting over every thought.

Not by removing every uncomfortable feeling.

But by quietly reminding me that I don't have to believe everything my mind says.

That is important.

Because thoughts are not always truth.

Fear can sound convincing.

Regret can sound intelligent.

Shame can sound theological.

Anxiety can sound like responsibility.

But a thought being loud doesn't make it true.

And a thought being familiar doesn't make it trustworthy.

I am learning to ask:

Is this actually happening?

Or am I rehearsing something that might happen?

Is this a fact?

Or is it fear?

Is this discernment?

Or am I trying to control something I cannot control?

Is there something I need to do?

Or do I simply need to sit here and breathe?

Those questions don't magically solve everything.

But they create space.

And sometimes space is enough.

Space between the thought and the reaction.

Space between yesterday and today.

Space between fear and truth.

Space between the story my mind is creating and the life actually happening in front of me.

I think that is where freedom begins.

Not when we never have difficult thoughts again.

But when we stop allowing every difficult thought to become our reality.

I am still learning this.

I will probably keep learning it for a long time.

There will be days when I catch myself doing it again like today.

There will be good days where my mind tries to find the storm.

There will be moments where I start picking apart something beautiful.

And when that happens, maybe I don't need to hate myself for it.

Maybe I can simply notice.

There I go again.

Trying to protect myself from something that hasn't happened.

Trying to control tomorrow.

Trying to turn peace into a problem.

Then perhaps I can stop.

Breathe.

Look around.

Remember where I am.

Remember who I am.

Remember who God is.

And come back to today.

Because today is the only day I actually have.

Tomorrow will arrive when it arrives.

Yesterday has already happened.

But this moment is still here.

And perhaps I don't want to spend it fighting an imaginary war.

I want to live it.

I want to receive the good without immediately preparing myself for its loss.

I want to laugh without wondering when the laughter will end.

I want to be grateful without asking what it will cost me.

I want to rest without feeling guilty for not solving something.

I want to trust God without immediately picking the burden back up.

Maybe that is what growing looks like for me now.

Not becoming someone who never struggles with his thoughts.

Becoming someone who recognises when his thoughts are trying to take him somewhere he doesn't need to go.

There is still so much inside me that is unfinished.

There are old wounds.

Old fears.

Old instincts.

Old survival mechanisms.

But there is also something new.

A growing ability to stop.

To notice.

To breathe.

To choose.

And perhaps that is enough for today.

It is Saturday.

I am off work.

The week is behind me.

The next week has not happened yet.

There is nothing I need to solve right now.

Nothing I need to predict.

Nothing I need to defend myself against.

For once, I want to let a good day be a good day.

No interrogation.

No mental courtroom.

No rehearsing disasters.

No dragging tomorrow into today.

Just gratitude.

Just breath.

Just this ordinary Saturday.

And maybe, for someone like me who has spent so much of life learning how to survive, there is something profoundly courageous about doing something that feels much harder.

Living.

Not perfectly.

Not without fear.

Not without questions.

Just living.

And trusting that if tomorrow brings something I need to face, God will meet me there too.

But tomorrow can wait.

Today is here.

And today, I am okay.

Maybe I don't need to fight that.

Maybe I can finally let that be enough.

---

About the Author

Dylan Verdun Sullivan is the founder of Refined by Fire Press and an Australian author indexed in the National Library of Australia. As a Level 7 Local Guide with over 6.1 million views on Google Maps, he documents the intersection of faith, recovery, and the light found in ordinary places.

• Read the Memoir: Kissed by Death on Amazon
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