What some bad days look like

From the outside, the day doesn’t look like much. I’m up. I answer texts, mostly. If you saw me, you’d probably think I was a little tired.

Inside, everything takes longer than it should. A shower feels like a project. brushing my teeth, meh. Choosing what to eat feels like a test I’m going to fail. I keep starting things and setting them down, and then I feel bad about the pile.

The worst part isn’t the heaviness. It’s the voice that keeps telling me I should be able to push through, that other people manage, that I’m making it bigger than it is.

I don’t have a way to make those days go faster. Mostly I try to make them smaller: one thing, then the next thing, and a lot of forgiving myself in between. If your bad days look like nothing from the outside, I see you. They still count.

I’ll send the next one. You can leave whenever you want.