How is someone supposed to do that when they don’t even like themselves? When forgiveness seems impossible, self-love is crippled.
But I try to be kind to myself. By posting reminders and inspiring words, I make my home a haven for encouragement. From laminated images to scribbles on paper to lipstick on the mirror. Whenever and wherever the feeling hits.
And it works. Sometimes.
When I’m feeling good, life is colorful. It’s easy to see the messages of hope.
On the other days, even though it’s gray, a simple nudge of inspiration might be enough to keep me moving forward.
The key is to remember to read the words. To gaze upon the images. To breathe in the hope.
Today, I’m breathing…
I’m having an anxiety attack. I know what it feels like now. My chest is tight. It’s hard to breathe. My stomach is in knots. My face is all crinkled up. My shoulders are tense and high. My mind is racing. I know this. I understand it. That doesn’t make it easy to go through. Not knowing what was happening for so many months was terrifying. Now I know. It makes them less intense, but still unavoidable. I believe the stress of my life has cause me irreparable physical damage. What a fucking waste.
