A Bedtime Story Of Hope

The reason I’m ok is because now I have evidence that I can survive not being ok.

This won’t be long. I’m three blinks from drooling on my pillow. But something tells me someone out there needs to read this.

It really is possible to walk away, to start again, to fight for yourself. It really is possible to come back from being too tired to care if you wake up tomorrow, too heartbroken to eat. It really is possible to find joy and hope again.

It really is possible to fall in love with yourself for the first time.

It really is possible to reconnect with your inner child.

A year ago, I sobbed in a psychiatrists office, hardly able to catch my breath. I told him how broken I was and had been for so long. I told him how loud my brain was. I told him how terrified I was I’d never be able to take care of myself, that I’d never hold down a regular job, that I’d shut down and never start again.

He looked at me with a moment of compassion, then told me I would be ok, and prescribed me Prozac and a couple other things. And I didn’t really believe him. How on earth could I EVER be ok? How could I come back from that pit of despair? Surely he didn’t know. Surely he was telling me what I wanted to hear. Surely I was someone who would never be ok, but he wanted me out of his office.

He was right. I’m ok. I’m not perfect. I’m not bulletproof. I’m not immune from bad things happening to me again. But I’m ok.

The reason I’m ok is because now I have evidence that I can survive not being ok.

In a way, every time I’ve come undone has simply given me the gift of knowing I have put myself back together again. It doesn’t make any of that fair. It doesn’t mean I should be grateful for heartbreaks and trauma. It just means that, historically, I know I can survive.

So find all the evidence you can gather in your heart. All the mended cracks and the snags- let them remind you that you can be ok again because you have put yourself back together before.

Have hope. It really is possible. You’ll be ok.