For the Love of All Things Holy: Why is Everyone Acting Like Every Day is a Full Moon?
I added the “full moon calendar” option to my work calendar a few weeks ago.
Not because I'm tracking my manifestation rituals or planning moon baths, but because every single day at my day job has felt like a full moon lately, and I needed to confirm that no, it's not actually a full moon—people are just like this now.
Spoiler: The moon is not the problem.
Time Has Broken…Or at Least, it’s Very Bent
Here's what I can't shake: time feels completely wrong this year.
Last year flew by in that predictable, "where did the year go?" way. But 2025? Every month disappears in a blink, yet each individual week contains approximately seven Thursdays. It simultaneously feels like we just rang in the New Year and like January 2025 was nineteen summers ago.
I thought maybe it was just me. But then I started paying attention.
Everyone Is Edgy
People are off.
Fellow drivers? Aggressively impatient. Or so cautious that I find myself coaxing them along from behind. “That’s it… just press on the gas pedal just a smidge … that green light? All yours, baby. Alllllllll yours.”
My fellow gym goers? Suddenly sitting on the weight machines to, oddly enough, sit and text. Those days of “Hey can I jump in and do a set while you rest?” No more, my friend.
Several weeks ago, an issue was brought to my attention at my day job. Turns out, the tech was “broken”. Why? According to one very upset, very adamant person, 11am - 3pm is not 4 hours, and therefore, the entire product was unreliable.
The math ain’t mathing. Not for her, not for anyone. These aren't isolated incidents. This is the ambient vibe now.
September Was Supposed to Be Different
September is supposed to feel like a fresh start, right? New school year, new routines, that back-to-school energy where everything feels possible again.
Except this September, nobody got the memo.
Parents are drowning before the first PTA meeting even happens. People without kids are also drowning. There's this simultaneous collective exhaustion and the sense that we're all wired and fried—too tired to function but too anxious to rest.
Instead of "fresh start," it feels like we're all already running on fumes. Like we showed up to the starting line and someone informed us we're actually at mile 18 of a marathon we don't remember signing up for.
And the worst part? The pressure to pretend we're not drowning. To optimize our way through it. To find the right morning routine or productivity hack that will somehow make us feel less like we're white-knuckling our way through every single day.
What's Actually Happening
I'm not a psychologist or a sociologist, but I do know this: burnout isn't always about your life falling apart. Sometimes it's about living through a moment when the whole world feels unstable.
The World Health Organization defines burnout as what happens when demands chronically exceed resources. And right now? The demands are demanding.
We're coming off years of compounding stress—pandemic, economic anxiety, political chaos, climate disasters, you name it. We’ve never had a chance to recover before the next crisis hits: and we just keep rolling. It’s a bit like the annual Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling festival in the UK. Surprisingly dangerous, and once you start … you’re committed!
Here's What I'm Noticing Helps
I can't fix the collective weirdness. I can't make time feel normal again or make people stop being edgy at the gym.
But I can tell you what seems to help when the whole world feels slightly unhinged:
Stop expecting yourself to feel "normal." You're not broken. You're accurately responding to an abnormal moment. Feeling off-kilter when everything is off-kilter is actually the appropriate response.
Shrink your expectations to match reality. If every week feels like it has seven Thursdays, stop planning like you have normal amounts of time and energy. One real thing accomplished per day is enough right now.
Protect your inputs. When the ambient anxiety is this high, everything you let into your brain matters. Doomscrolling at 11pm isn't helping. Neither is the true crime podcast or the enraging news cycle or the gym person's loud TV show. Choose quiet when you can.
Anchor the basics. Morning light. Same bedtime. Moving your body, even if it's just a walk around the block. These aren't magic, but they signal to your nervous system that some things are still predictable.
Let yourself be exactly as tired as you actually are. Stop trying to productivity-hack your way out of exhaustion. The tiredness is real. The weirdness is real. You're allowed to move slower right now.
A Tiny Experiment
For the next week, try this:
Each morning, ask yourself: "What's the one thing I actually need to do today?" Not the seventeen things on your list. The one thing that, if you do it, means the day wasn't a wash.
Each evening, ask yourself: "What's one thing I can do right now to signal safety to my nervous system?" Could be ten minutes outside. Could be calling a friend. Could be going to bed at 9pm like a toddler.
Every decision, ask yourself: “How does this choice feel in my body?” That’s the key one, my friends. We are learning to trust ourselves on a whole new level. And when your body appears to go against your brain and any sense of reason? Follow your body. Always.
The Bottom Line
I don't know when time will start feeling normal again. I don't know when the full-moon energy will dial back down to regular-human levels.
But I do know this: You're not imagining it. Everyone is wired differently right now. The world feels weird because it is weird.
And the answer isn't to try harder or do more or find the perfect system that will somehow make you immune to collective chaos.
You're not falling behind. You're just trying to function in a world that's asking too much of everyone right now.
You're doing better than you think.
The bar is low right now.
You're clearing it.
