Brushing it off and saying “it’s just one of those days” is a disservice to yourself. It’s a cheat out of giving yourself permission to experience real pain, real emotions, real sadness. Whether or not you understand where it’s coming from doesn’t necessarily matter- and it doesn’t make it any less.

It doesn’t have to be for a specific reason or thing. It doesn’t have to stem from a particular moment or comment or memory. Sometimes it’s going to just feel like a swift punch in the gut and you’ll want to cry and cry until your skin is sticky, the dip in your collarbone in filled with tears, and you’re physically exhausted.

Maybe you’re feeling uninspired. Maybe you’re feeling useless. Maybe you’re feeling lonely. Maybe you’re experiencing a loss. Maybe you’re on the verge of something scarily huge, a change or a shift. Maybe you’re afraid of what the future holds. Maybe you’re afraid of what the past has given. Maybe you’re tired. Tired of trying, of failing, of wondering, of questioning, of feeling discontent, of feeling inadequate, of feeling disappointed, of being a disappointment.

You don’t always have to be strong. You don’t always have to show up with your shirt ironed and your lipstick on. You don’t always have to know the answers- and it’s okay to still want them all the same. You don’t always have to stand up straight, particularly when you feel like your legs have been knocked out from under you. You don’t always have to wipe away the blood from your nose after you’ve been hit out by one of life’s big ones.

When it is “one of those days”… when no matter what you do something feels like it’s chewing away at the inside of your diaphragm. When you just want to close your eyes and drift away from reality. When you can’t imagine anyone wanting to hear your story, to listen to your woes, to hold your hand. When every thought that crawls into your head is one of destruction. When doing the smallest, simplest thing feels like a journey to Mordor. When it feels like the last time you felt accomplished was too long ago to count. When you want to be anywhere but where you are.

Remember you’re not alone, even if it feels that way. Pick up the phone, call someone. Write yourself a note. Draw a picture, even a small one. Read a chapter of your favorite book. Say a prayer. Take a deep breath. Scrub your bathroom. Scrawl out a note to someone you’re grateful for. Have your favorite snack. Stretch. Crawl under a soft blanket and count to two hundred. Go ahead and cry some more.

And then, remember again: you’re not alone.

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