I have written this post, and rewritten this post many of times. Each time I erase it and think to myself “who the fuck cares” and carry on with this weird over the shoulder pressure that I should be writing more blog posts. I love writing. Even though my grammar is shit, almost all my sentences are run on sentences, and auto correct always gets the best of me. It’s always been a way for me to express and let out all the emotion that gets wound up inside my body.
I was so excited to have all of May “off” I was going to get so much stuff done! Get the new pin design ordered. Get new product shots, write and maybe get a head for the blog. Make sure all my scheduling was done. Make sure all the Tees were stocked, sized, bagged the list goes on. Then on top of that I was in shop tattooing all month.
But guess the fuck whattt.
My depression had other ideas. I laid in bed, I barely drew for work or Stay Soft. My mind wasn’t able to hold a thought long enough to write a blog post. I wasn’t able to remember the daily tasks I had to get done. Even if I made a list the night before. Getting up for work was hard. Showing up to work was all I had in me. It was all I could do to carry on the facade I wasn’t struggling.
I spent a lot time being really hard on myself about how little I had gotten done, how as a business owner I am slacking, how as an artist I wasn’t creating. I had a bad body image month. Where nothing fit, looking at myself in the mirror made me irate and deflated.
Something I can happily report back though is that I also spent a lot of time being gentle with myself. Addressing my mental health and holding space for it. I have depression and this happens to me! I would repeat that to myself. I would give my self this little out. Put the blame on depression if you will. I needed to put it somewhere so it wasn’t on my back. I would take what energy I did have and drag myself outside if even for 20 minutes to feel the sun on my face, to watch the butterflies and birds. I would remind myself that I woke up, got dressed, and went to work. I would celebrate those victories. Over and Overr again. Reminding myself that I am still getting shit done. I’m doing the fucking best I can! Some days/weeks/months my best is just getting out of bed, and learning how to accept that is harddd. Specially in a world where our worth is determined by our productivity.
I kept erasing this because I didn’t want it to be all negative. I didn’t want to write it because I still struggle with takin up space with my story. I didn’t want to write it because I was in a dark place and “who the fuck cares”
I did come around to write it because I am feeling like maybe I can breathe for the first time in a while. I’m feeling lighter and not so numb. I’m writing this because I know some of you feel this, struggle with depression, or some one you can relate to something that I said.
I wrote this because I want you to know I struggle. You’re not alone. I know that these words hold next to nothing but maybe right now you need to hear that.
You are not alone.
You deserve to take up space.
Your depression is lying to you.
I won’t tell you it’s all going to be alright because I also know hearing that is kinda a sweet sting. I will tell you that I’m here with you. I’m here to listen, to cry and be HERE with you. You are not alone, we are not alone and together we fucking got this shit!
Till next time my Lil Softies🖤