Sundays… Oh, how I love them and my Söndagsmys. I swear, it’s the stuff my (day)dreams are made of. I know, for some Sundays are a neverending whirlwind of social engagements, shopping and prepping for the coming week. But for me it’s mys time! In other words, I’ll be deep into my sacred haven of blankets, books, and the warm embrace of my sea bear. So, what is it this mys I speak of?

Simply put, mys is the uniquely Scandi art of cosy contentment. It’s a lifestyle, a state of being and a survival strategy that helps you relax and recharge so you can deal with whatever it is you have to deal with. And trust me, as a spoonie (aka energy warrior) making space and time for mys in my life is all about resilience, survival and well-being.

Remember that blog post I wrote about creating your own mys nook? Let’s just say my Sundays (and a good portion of every other day of the week to be perfectly honest) revolve around that little corner of zen, the myshörna. The fluffy blanket is a permanent fixture, the flickering candles chase the shadows away and my hot beverage adds a lovely scent to the scene. My TBR is the size of a small castle, or it would be if I read paper books, and this is my time to enjoy it and my bear.

But mys isn’t just for humans. It’s a philosophy that extends to all members of the household, furry and not-so-furry alike. Hels Bellz, my kangarottercat doggo, has adopted the practice with the enthusiasm of a seasoned Northener. She claims the warmest patch of the bed (yes, that’s where my myshörna is!) as her own, snoring away like a percolator as she tries to push me to the side to give her more space. Even our grumpy bumblebear, Bartholomew, appreciates the dimmed lights and gentle sound of my audiobook. He hums to the tone of the narrator’s voice and his wings flutter along in a slow, meditative rhythm.

My Sundays, like all mys moments in my life, are about replenishing the resources that get drained during the week. About (re)connecting with yourself and your reasons to keep going. I’ve made Sir Bear reconnect with his Scandi roots too, and he’s just as hooked on mys now as I am. He’ll whip up some tasty treats, while dancing around the kitchen in one of his feather boas, singing along to the songs of whatever playlist he’s currently inspired by. The only thing missing right now is a mini spa. I think we may have to see if we can get one going in the new bathroom. If, indeed, we’ll get a new bathroom.

Sometimes, though, the best form of mys is simply doing nothing. Forgetting all about deadlines, to-do lists, and expectations. Closing the door to the noisy world outside and rest in the comfort of your myshörna, which doesn’t have to be stationary by the way. Or a single place. You can mys anywhere, but it is extra sweet to create some special nooks for it too. These moments help me recharge my internal battery, the one that powers my creativity, my compassion, my love of life, and my ability to face the challenges of the week ahead.

So, yes, on Sundays we mys. We embrace the quiet, celebrate the slow, and nurture ourselves (and our pets) back to wholeness. And as a spoonie, I can tell you it’s not just an indulgence, it’s an act of rebellion against the hustle and grind and a world that resents us. A reminder that our worth doesn’t come from productivity, but from simply being.

I know I talk about mys a lot, but it really is the fuel to my fire and that’s why I’m forever telling people to embrace the mys and the fika. Find your own corner of mys. Light the candles, brew the tea, and give yourself permission to rest. It’s not lazy. Your spoons will be all the shinier for it, your pet will purr their approval (just ask Sir Bear, he knows), and when you come out, you’ll be ready to face the world with a renewed sense of peace and purpose.

You can explore more about mys in my ongoing series on the As We Write blog. I would also love to hear about your Sundays and what you do to perk yourself up and recharge your batteries.

On that note, the time has come for me to sign off. Until we meet again, may your week be filled with mys.

Love always,



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Linnea Lucifer is the Captain of the imaginary, yet very real, pirate ship Resilience and her merry crew of indie authors. But that is not all – amateur liar, weaver of stories, peddler of merch, lifelong spoonie, ancient dragon lady and Sir Bear’s irreverent pet are a few more words often used to describe the bearer of many names.

The Captain was named after a delicate little flower that grows in mossy, Swedish pine forests, and a certain fiery fallen angel. She spends most of her days daydreaming and writing fantasy, smut and painfully crappy poems. A diva of delight, she takes great pleasure in everything that tickles the senses and adds a sprinkle of magic and spice to our world.


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