“I’m Going to Take My Bed”

In my family - the O’Quinn's - there’s a long-standing phrase that gets passed around like cornbread at Sunday dinner: “I’m going to take my bed.”

Now, some folks know exactly what that means. Others tilt their heads and ask, “Take it where?”

But if you know, you know.

Taking your bed doesn’t mean moving furniture. It means life has hit you a little too hard - maybe you’re sad, maybe you’re mad, maybe anxiety has crept in and taken the reins. Whatever the emotion, the cure is simple: you go lay down. For a while. Maybe for the rest of the day. Maybe longer.

This tradition traces back to my great-great-grandmother, Granny Mary. She was a tiny thing - under 100 pounds and not even five feet tall - but don’t let her size fool you. She was tough. She gave birth to twelve children, including my great-grandfather, Poppy. She chewed twisted tobacco and could spit into a spittoon with more precision than Caitlin Clark from the three-point line.

But deliver her some bad news? Granny Mary would take her bed.

As she got older - and maybe just a little tired of life - she moved her bed right into the living room. That way she could rest and still visit with family and company. Eventually, one day, she took her bed and simply stayed there.

And wouldn’t you know it? Generations later, we’re still doing the same. When life gets too loud or heavy, we don’t lash out - we lie down. We let sleep do the talking. It’s not laziness, it’s legacy.

It’s an O’Quinn thing.

Now you understand.