Surviving bad days.
Disclosure: I’m not a medical doctor or a therapist and this is not medical advice. Just my personal experience.
I am, however, a (mostly) normal human being just like you. I have bad days. Some worse than others. Days when I’m irritable, burnt out, not exactly bursting with sunshine or empathy. Days when my inner world feels heavy, like I’m carrying around a sadness I can’t quite name. Days when motivation is missing in action and I’d rather stay in bed than put on my size 13 sneakers and face the world.
Basically, there are a handful of days where I feel like total crap.
Maybe you can relate?
It’s on these days that I come back to the words of Parker Palmer: “Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am.”
So I listen. Or, at least I try to.
The days when I feel hopeless are usually the days I want to isolate. Be left alone. No calls. No check-ins. Just space. Space to breathe, to think, or not think. Solitude becomes a refuge.
But, here’s the thing I’ve learned: there’s a difference between solitude and escape.
The old me? He used solitude to avoid. To run. To numb. To dodge anything that felt too real, too painful, too uncomfortable. The old me would scroll, binge, drink, distract. Anything but feel.
Now, I use solitude to face what’s real. I slow down. I get quiet. I create enough margin to hear what my life is trying to say. I’ve discovered that reflection is not indulgent, it’s necessary.
The word reflect comes from the 14th-century French word reflechir, which means “to look again.”
I love that. To look again.
That’s what I try to do when I’m in a funk. I pause, look again at why exactly I’m feeling what I’m feeling, and gently ask myself:
What’s really going on here?
What’s underneath this sadness and apathy?
What do I need right now that I’m not getting?
Sometimes the answer surprises me. Sometimes it doesn’t. But, slowing down and asking always helps.
I’ve found that there are a few things that consistently help me start to turn the corner on a really rough day:
Getting outside in nature and breaking a sweat. There’s something about fresh air and movement that shakes the cobwebs off my soul. And, saltwater in all it’s forms heals the soul.
Helping someone else. Reaching out, encouraging, listening. When I get out of my own head and into someone else’s world, perspective returns. And, the fog begins to lift.
Journaling. Pen on paper. Getting the chaos out of my brain and onto the page clears a path forward. Relieves me of my silent suffering. Reveals a healthy next step to take.
Talking with a trusted friend. Saying the real stuff out loud loosens its grip on me. Breaks me out of isolation. Connects me with tangible hope.
Getting a haircut. It sounds dumb, but there’s something oddly therapeutic about a fresh cut. I look better, I feel better. I walk out a little taller.
I bring all this up because I think a lot of people are silently struggling right now.
Maybe it’s the cultural noise. Maybe it’s the nonstop pressure to perform and “be okay.” Maybe it’s the constant comparison on social media where everyone’s highlight reel makes us feel like we’re falling behind. Or, broken. Or, not enough.
Maybe that’s you.
If it is, I want to say something clearly:
It’s okay to have bad days.
Even a string of them.
That’s not failure. That’s life.
But, you don’t have to stay stuck.
And, you definitely don’t have to go it alone.
You are not the only one who feels off, weary, disconnected, or down. You are not weird or weak or hopeless.
You are human.
When the world feels like too much, give yourself the gift of space.
Breathe.
Reflect.
Get curious, not critical.
Ask for help, even if it’s just a text that says, “Hey, I’m having a rough day.”
Go outside.
Stretch.
Write something.
Cry if you need to.
Then, reach out.
There’s probably someone in your life right now who needs you, too. Because they’re also having a bad day. And, there’s something sacred that happens when two honest humans sit together and share their mess. Something that says, without needing to say it:
“It’s okay to not be okay.”
Friendship is a good remedy for rough days. It doesn’t fix everything, but it reminds us that we’re not alone in our struggle. That we’re seen. Known. Still wanted. Still valuable, even on our worst days.
So here’s to the beautiful, messy, complicated experience of being a (mostly) normal human being.
If you’re having one of those days, I see you. I’ve been there. And, I’ll probably be there again.
But the good news is that we don’t have to stay there. And, we don’t have to do it alone.
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Steve Knox | Alabama
\\\ Thanks for reading. Forward this little post out into the ether. Somebody you know needs it. Take a moment just for yourself, too. Breathe. Until next week. Be honest. Be you. Much love.