I use to love baking and cooking. I was always down to whip something up, whether it was trying a new recipe or pulling out an old family favorite. You would often catch me some where in the house dancing, probably cleaning too and the music on full blast. But over the last 8 months, you could find me on the couch, barely loving myself.
One night there was a moment of clarity while stirring the depressive thoughts in the same shit cycle as if it was my career – I found some kind of light. I’m not actually stuck and though I may definitely be bent, I am not broken. I’m just grieving. Grief does some weird things to people and at one point, I let it take over so much parts of my body stopped growing. My nails literally had breaks in them. The skin on my fingers were breaking an peeling. It was bad. And it hurt, not just on the inside.
I’ve been experiencing hell mounds of trials and tribulations to realize these moments do not define me, but are shaping me as a person. Everyday I’m learning and growing. I’m constantly listening to new self-help podcasts or books and researching ways to relieve my wounded soul. I’m learning how to rewire my brain for a better me. A positive me. A more successful me. But most importantly, a happier me.
” Your trauma was never your fault, but healing will always be your responsibility.” Let this phrase move you the same ways it did me. It’s easy to play the victim and look for excuses but if you want to be better, you have to at least try.
Depression with anxiety is a bad mother fucker and for the people currently on the battlefront and those that have beat it –
YOU ARE A WARRIOR.
I am SO proud of myself and YOU for the person you are fighting to become. There is more. There is better and it is coming.
So much love to you, little babies.