Self-Care, Ditch Days, and Not Getting Busted

But rarely was I unsafe.

I’ve known my friend Matt since 1987. Maybe '86, but definitely '87. And among my close circle of lifelong friends, Matt and I are the most nostalgic—by far.

Every time we FaceTime or Zoom (once a month, every couple months), we end up telling the same stories we’ve been telling since sophomore year of high school. And we love it. We’re the kind of people who can talk for an hour about a single afternoon in 1992. I’ve come to think of it as a kind of time travel. Emotional archaeology.

A while back we were reminiscing (as usual) about ditching school. And we ditched a lot. All of us. Some more than others, but we all did it. And here’s the honest truth: I don’t regret a second of it.

We were also talking about our home lives at the time, and the home lives of our friends, and Matt said something that struck me:

“Ditching school? That was self-care.”

At first, I laughed. C’mon, dude. That’s a stretch.

But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Because the stuff we were dealing with at home—some of us more than others—was just too much for a 14-year-old. Or a 16-year-old. Or a 17-year-old. It still would be too much. So we found peace and quiet and laughter and freedom in the places we could. With the people we trusted.

With the people who showed up for us.

Writing Cassie’s Ditch Day

This morning I was working on a chapter in Breaking Character, and it just hit me. I wrote this scene where Cassie, my main character, visits her former best friend Lindsey in the hospital. Lindsey’s been in a terrible car accident. They haven’t spoken in a year and a half—some middle-school drama blew up their friend group—and this is their first real conversation in forever.

And it’s good. Like, really good. Raw, awkward, emotional. The kind of talk you wish you could have with someone you miss.

And when it’s over? Cassie’s like, screw it. She’s already missed a couple classes. No one’s home anyway. She ditches the rest of the day.

She goes home. Eats ice cream. Makes pizza bites. Watches The Price is Right. And just breathes.

And you know what?
She earned it.

She’s been carrying so much guilt, so much pressure, and for just one day—she lets herself feel good.

I found myself cheering her on. And I realized… man, I love writing scenes like this. I believe in scenes like this.

Because they’re real. I’ve lived them. And maybe you have too.

What High School Was (and Wasn’t) For Me

In high school, I never really got in trouble. Not once. I ditched, stayed out late, hung with the guys, but there were no real consequences. My mom would sometimes wake up when I came in at midnight or 1 AM, and all she’d say was:

“Who were you with?”
“Matt and the guys.”
“Okay. Go to bed.”

That was it. I wasn’t grounded. No lectures. No punishment.

Now, to be clear, a lot went wrong in other people’s houses. Stuff I won’t go into here. But for me? I just…slipped through the cracks. Even the school’s “automated absence call” system never seemed to work. Or maybe they had the wrong number. Maybe the system was broken. Maybe nobody cared.

I’ve got complicated feelings about all that. But one thing is clear to me now: Matt was right, we all need time to breathe. Back then, we made our own space to do that. We carved it out, sometimes recklessly, but always out of necessity.

Mental Health Days—Then and Now

Cassie’s ditch day felt like a tribute to that. A nod to all of us who needed rest before we had the words for it. A reminder that even now, even as adults, those little rebellions—the quiet ones—can save us.

As a parent now, and I don’t want my kids ditching school without me knowing where they are. But I do want them to know it’s okay to take care of themselves. To step out of the storm for a minute and just reset.

We don’t talk enough about that. Or we do, but it gets buried under “productivity” and “hustle.”

Cassie reminded me: sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is go home, throw on sweatpants, and eat pizza bites in silence.

I can’t wait to share this book with you. I don’t have a release date yet—we’re still in the thick of edits—but it’s coming. And when it does, I hope Cassie’s ditch day hits you the way it hit me.

In the meantime, be good to yourself. Take a break. Read something just for fun. Watch something dumb. Call a friend you’ve known since 1987.

Whatever works.

Take care,

~ Tom