A Letter for You When You're in the Darkness
Before we really get into what I want to say to you, I first want you to know you're not alone in this. When your brain is trying to convince you that you're the only one who feels this crazy, the only one who is this broken, the only one who can't get out of bed in the morning- know you're not alone. I can speak these words with full assurance of the weight of their truth because I'm with you in that darkness. Right now. I'm here, too.
I get what it feels like to start your day with a defeated, "...I can't." I know how crappy it is to stare at the ceiling for the entirety of a night, spinning out into oblivion about all the ways your brain has convinced you that you're disappointing everyone, falling short, and straight up failing. I intimately know how heavy the expectations of being a person feel first thing in the morning.
I, too, am tired of people asking me why I can't wake up and feeling like I have no legitimate excuse to give them because the truth is just forcing myself to get out of bed at 10am took a week's worth amount of effort. It's hard to quickly explain that your permanent exhaustion is from a war filling your mind while your calendar remains empty. That you're constantly battling anxiety's demands to get up and earn your worth while at the same time depression is whispering that you'll never make it so why bother trying.
So... I get it. Deeply. Intimately. Emphatically.
I'm writing you this letter because I need to know I not alone either. I need to be able to show up to this space and hear a "me too." Because this place is scary. The darkness is disorienting. It's easy for my feeling lost to quietly slip into losing myself. But I want you to know- I need both of us to remember, how important it is to show up, to get out of bed and be a member of your world even when it feels like the fight of the century to face your life.
This letter to you is my flashlight in the suffocating darkness. It's the whisper of "I'm here too" when you call out in the panic of feeling left behind. It's a battle cry, and a desperate wish. It's squeezing your hand and saying "me too."
So here's my plea to you, to all of us; Get out of bed. I know it's one of the hardest things you'll do today. And even if you return to the soft safety of your pillows two hours later, let the earth hold you upright for that time. Let your feet feel the floor and remember it can support you, too. Let it remind you that you don't have to carry everything on your back.
Because there will be days where we stay down. There will be days when the getting up truly is too much to handle, that's okay too. But, Friend, fight for your rising. Together we will find our light.