Rest, Recovery, and a Little Disney Magic: Lessons from a San Angelo Sick Day
Written by Latosha Walker
Founder & CEO, Wondering.Waves | Military Spouse | Creator | Storyteller
Published: September 16, 2025
There are days when the world outside is bright and bustling, but inside, the pace slows to a gentle crawl. This is one of those days—a story of rest, recovery, and finding comfort in the little things, wrapped in blankets, memories, and a touch of Disney magic.
Slowing Down: Finding Comfort in a Sunny Sick Day
There are days when life’s tempo slows to a gentle crawl, even if the world outside is bright and breezy. Today, San Angelo is showing off—clear skies, a perfect 71 degrees, the kind of weather that makes you want to throw open the windows and soak in the sunshine. The air smells faintly of someone smoking brisket nearby, mingling with the fresh-cut grass—a warm, savory scent that feels like home. Birds chirp lazily in the distance, and the sunlight casts playful shadows through the blinds.
And yet, here I am, tucked under a mountain of blankets, cocooned in my little sanctuary, letting the world spin quietly on while I focus on one simple mission: rest, recover, and embrace every ounce of cozy comfort I can find.
I’ll admit, part of me wishes it was raining—there’s something about a soft drizzle, the rhythmic patter against the window, that makes a sick day feel extra justified. It’s like the weather conspires with your body, giving you permission to slow down without guilt. But, as any seasoned member of the Sniffle Squad knows, you don’t need gloomy weather to grant yourself that grace. Sometimes, you just have to listen to your body, pull the covers up, and let comfort take the lead.
My bed is officially HQ, and I’m reporting for duty, tissues in hand, ready to face the day one slow breath at a time.
Wrapped in soft blankets and gentle sunlight, this peaceful sick day sanctuary invites rest, comfort, and a moment to breathe. It captures the quiet magic of slowing down and embracing care—even when the world outside is bright and bustling.
The Sick Day Setup: Building My Cozy Command Center
With sunlight streaming in and the world outside looking deceptively energetic, I’ve built my own little haven right here in bed. My nightstand is a monument to sick day survival: a half-empty sleeve of cough drops (menthol is a love language), a tall glass of ice water sweating softly in the morning warmth, and a can of ginger ale chilled just right. The can’s coolness contrasts with the cozy warmth of my blankets, a little reminder of the balance I’m seeking today. There’s soup waiting in the kitchen, simmering gently on the stove, but for now, I’m savoring the anticipation—sometimes just knowing comfort food is within reach is enough to soothe the soul.
But the real star of today’s setup is my Minnie Mouse blanket hoodie—the one I snagged at Disney Tokyo, Japan. Pulling it on is like stepping into a hug from a faraway friend. It’s oversized, plush, and covered in memories of a trip that still makes me smile on the gloomiest days (or, as it turns out, even on the sunniest ones). The fabric is soft against my skin, the hood enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth. There’s a special kind of magic in wrapping up in something that’s traveled the world with you; it’s a reminder that comfort can be both a feeling and a souvenir.
I’m surrounded by my softest blankets (because let’s be honest, one is never enough), a fortress of pillows propped just right to cradle me, and the gentle hum of my iPad playing Resident Alien. It’s my first time watching, and I’m already obsessed—quirky humor, a little mystery, and just the right amount of weirdness to distract me from the scratchiness in my throat.
Of course, no sick day HQ would be complete without a project. My crochet bag is never far from reach, and today it’s holding a Tunisian scarf in progress. I scored the Baby Bee Sweet Delights Prints yarn (French Fields colorway) at Hobby Lobby for just a dollar—a true bargain hunter’s victory! The yarn is so soft, and the colors are like a little patch of spring: blue skies, green fields, and a hint of sunshine. Every row is a gentle reminder that even on the slowest days, creativity can bloom.
Comfort Food Cravings: The Subway Sandwich Saga
There’s something about being sick that brings out the most specific, almost ritualistic cravings. For me, it’s always soup—classic chicken noodle if I’m sticking to the script, but honestly, anything warm and brothy will do. But today, my comfort food heart wanted something oddly specific: a Subway roast beef sandwich. Cheddar, toasted, double pickles, all the veggies (except banana peppers and jalapeños), plus a generous drizzle of mayo, oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper.
Why are sick day cravings so particular? Maybe it’s about nostalgia—reaching for the foods that comforted us as kids, or maybe it’s just that when everything else feels off, a familiar sandwich order is a tiny anchor in the storm. I can remember so many sick days from my childhood, curled up on the couch with my grandma’s afghan, my mom hovering nearby with a thermometer and a glass of Sprite. Those flavors, those rituals, are stitched into my bones.
Today, that craving was answered with the sweetest act of care—Matthew brought me my sandwich during his lunch break. He showed up, sandwich in hand, with that gentle smile that says, “I know what you need.” Even if my taste buds are dulled by congestion, the textures and smells bring a sense of normalcy and warmth. There’s a tactile comfort in the crunch of the toasted bread, the tangy snap of pickles, and the rich, savory roast beef layered just so. Maybe I can’t taste everything perfectly, but the crunch of pickles and the warmth of toasted bread still feel like a hug from the inside out.
It’s these small gestures—thoughtful, everyday kindnesses—that make even the slowest, hardest days feel a little brighter.
The Clinic Visit: Finding Kindness in Unexpected Places
This morning, when my sniffles turned into something more persistent, I made the familiar trip to Goodfellow Medical (Ross Clinic). Military families know the drill—sometimes you brace yourself for a long wait or a rushed visit, feeling like just another number on a list. But today, I want to give credit where it’s due: the team at Ross Clinic was genuinely wonderful.
From the moment I walked in, the nurse greeted me with a warmth that instantly put me at ease. She listened—really listened—as I described my symptoms, asking thoughtful questions and offering reassuring words. It’s a rare gift to feel truly cared for, especially when you’re far from home and navigating the healthcare system on your own.
We did the usual swabs, talked through what to expect, and I left with the classic “how to feel better at home” checklist: stay home, drink plenty of water and fluids, try not to talk (sore throat’s orders!), and most importantly, rest. It’s advice we’ve all heard a hundred times, but somehow, when it comes from someone who looks you in the eye and says, “You’re going to be okay. Just take care of yourself,” it lands a little softer.
Leaving the clinic, I felt a deep sense of gratitude—not just for the medical care, but for the kindness and connection that made the experience feel less clinical and more human. For military families, especially those who move frequently or live far from family support, these little moments matter more than we often realize. They’re proof that community isn’t just a word; it’s something you can feel, even in a clinic waiting room.
Rest as Resistance: Giving Myself Permission to Pause
Rest is not my default setting. If you know me, you know I’m always juggling a dozen things—family, creative projects, community commitments, and the never-ending to-do list. I’m wired to keep moving, to check off every box, to be “on” even when my body is whispering for a break. But today, I’m surrendering.
The world outside might be buzzing with energy, but here in HQ, it’s slow, soft, and sacred.
I wrap myself tighter in my Minnie Mouse hoodie, pull the blankets up, and let myself just be. I sip ginger ale, nibble my sandwich, and let the gentle rhythm of my crochet hook quiet my mind. Every stitch is a small act of rebellion against the pressure to be “productive.” Today, rest is enough.
There’s a unique bravery in pausing, in letting the world move on without you for a while. It’s not easy to let go of guilt or the urge to catch up, but healing asks for softness and surrender. I’m learning—slowly—that my worth isn’t measured by what I accomplish on my busiest days, but by how kindly I treat myself on my slowest.
Sometimes, I close my eyes and practice a simple breathing exercise: inhaling deeply for four counts, holding for four, then exhaling slowly for six. It helps me settle into the quiet, reminding me that rest is not a failure—it’s a vital part of resilience.
Tiny Joys and Unexpected Silver Linings
Even on a sick day, there are moments of joy if you’re willing to notice them. The sunlight filtering softly through my window, casting warm stripes across my comforter. The gentle laughter and quirky dialogue from Resident Alien drifting from my iPad, a perfect mix of distraction and delight. The simple thrill of a dollar yarn find at Hobby Lobby—small victories that brighten the slowest days.
Crocheting my Tunisian scarf, I’m reminded of the legacy of comfort passed down from my grandmothers. They taught me that creativity is portable, that you can build a sense of home wherever you are, and that sometimes, the best thing you can do is show up for yourself, exactly as you are—stitch by stitch, breath by breath.
I think about Matthew checking in from work, making sure I’m staying hydrated, and the friends who send silly memes and “get well soon” texts. Even on a solo sick day, I’m surrounded by care—woven together by family, friends, and this beautiful, resilient military community.
These small moments, these threads of kindness and connection, remind me that comfort isn’t just a feeling—it’s a fabric we create together. And even when life slows down, that fabric holds strong.
The Art of Letting Go: Embracing the Slow Days
In a world that rewards hustle, constant motion, and the relentless pursuit of “more,” sick days force us to slow down and focus on what really matters: comfort, connection, and care. Today, I’m letting go of the pressure to bounce back or be “caught up.” The dishes can wait, emails can go unanswered, and the world will keep spinning without me for a little while.
I’m letting myself be cared for—by my own hands, by the kindness of a nurse, by the memories of my grandmothers, by the laughter of a quirky TV show, and by the perfectly toasted sandwich that tastes like home.
There’s a quiet strength in surrendering, in trusting that healing is not linear and that rest is a vital part of resilience. It’s a practice of self-kindness, a rebellion against the culture of burnout, and an act of honoring the rhythms of your own body and spirit.
As a military spouse, I’ve learned that life is full of transitions, uncertainties, and moments that demand flexibility. Embracing the slow days with grace is part of that journey—an invitation to find peace amid the chaos, to build sanctuary within yourself, and to remember that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is simply pause.
Closing Thoughts
May this season bring you comfort, connection, and a little sweetness—wherever you are and whoever you’re with.
With warmth and wonder,
Latosha