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Dear Tiffany,
You ‘should’ write in your journal. It’s a good way to process things.
You ‘should’ read your book, or even just listen to an audiobook.
It’s okay if you don’t want to.
You don’t have to do the things you’re supposed to do. The voice in your head that makes so many demands is well-meaning but a bit overbearing.
Drink some water.
Lay on the bed.
(You even have permission to watch a show if you want. *gasp*)
Sleep.
I love you,
Me
Dear Tiffany,
You made it to the airport.
You got yourself packed, and all the time sensitive work done so nobody at either of your day jobs will be left in the lurch if you don’t manage to log in tomorrow, and you figured out the cellphone stuff. And you didn’t cry on the phone to the help line and didn’t cry going through security and didn’t cry when you said goodbye to Joe and Hawk at home and didn’t cry when you said goodbye to Scott at the airport. Check you out, you veritable desert, cactus heart… no, succulent heart self.
You even bought a bottle of water and a cashew-blueberry-vanilla bar, since dinner was lost to the discomfort of anxiety-belly and the delight of chasing Astrid through the shoe store.
Your nose is running. Your throats hurts. Your back hurts.
(You packed light, but no amount of light is light enough. And you tried to check the bag but you’re not so good at letting go and you like to keep things tight and controlled. Recently, you told a client that it sounds like they are stretching themselves so far, working so hard, trying to keep everything nailed down. And you said that makes sense, because chaos is often traumatic, but it also likely isn’t sustainable because none of us can actually control all the things we stretch out from our bubble of selfness to try and control. So, I mean, you know that choosing not to check the bag doesn’t actually mean you’re in control, but I forgive you for that gentle lie and I understand the motive behind it. Someday you’ll come to the world with hands more open, palms instead of clutching fists. But not today.)
It’s really okay, chickadee.
It’s okay.
And you’re okay.
And I love you.
Remember that one trip to San Francisco, and the nearly-vomiting panic attack, curled up in a ball in the hostel bathroom? That was such a rough afternoon, hey? But you still loved that trip.
And remember getting lost in… well, basically every city you visited in Europe. Still, you went. And you loved it. Assisi on your own, that amazing sandwich in the town square with that dog who barked with the clock tower? It was so good. And remember the dogs that chased you and trapped you in a phone booth, growling, until their laughing, mocking owner called them off? (Vienna was not your favourite city.) You still loved that trip.
What I’m saying is that your anxiety is such a powerful force in your life, but you, like the T-Rex on your very intentional shirt, are (mostly) unstoppable.
You’ve got this.
I believe in you.
Love,
Me
Dear Tiffany,
I’m just gonna boop yer snoot and call it a night.
Good job surviving, you’re an A+ Gloom Fairy.
Love,
Me
Three things I am grateful for:
1. Snuggles with little humans. Small people who trust me – I appreciate that trust. It is special and it reminds me of how deeply our actions can impact the people around us. It took a long time to get to the point of regular snuggles.
2. Good food and good people to eat it with. Dinner with Scott last night and Sue tonight and mediocre cherries with Joseph tonight, made good by the context.
3. All my lovely plants and plans and principles.
Three things I am not grateful for:
1. Intense and seemingly endless existential dread at the state of the world.
2. Constant sleep deprivation, constant noise. I love the snuggles, but oh my god. Kids are hard.
3. Fucking late stage capitalism. Like. So much.
Dear Tiffany,
Drink water, take your vitamins, sit up a bit taller, keep breathing.
Thriving is the goal, but just surviving is a completely acceptable outcome, too.
Love,
Me
Dear Tiffany,
I love you even when you are so tired and so sore and so gloomy.
Love,
Me
Dear Tiffany,
I’m not really sure what you need this morning, but I know it’s something. Maybe something gentle. Something with a little space in it.
This morning, you have official Love Letter Permission to put your head down and work all day even though that’s not what you’re “supposed” to be doing these days.
This morning, you have official Love Letter Permission to take a nap if you don’t want to work all day, even though that means you won’t get everything done.
This morning, you have official Love Letter Permission to be social or to not be social.
You don’t have to drive anywhere if you don’t want to.
You don’t have to stay home if you don’t want to.
You have permission to do whatever feels best, and I trust you to make those choices, and I promise I will do my best not to get to the end of the day and beat you up for whatever choices you made.
Also, maybe eat some breakfast.
Love,
Me
http://falseknees.com/254.html
Got the #100loveletters email sent out, because I am a champ. Getting pretty excited about turning this into a how-to guide for folks to participate anytime, any place, ongoing. Woot.
Dear Tiffany,
To do list – not complete.
Most important items on to do list, if ‘important’ is defined in work-centric ways – mostly complete.
Most important items on to do list, if ‘important’ is defined in non-work-centric ways – not complete.
Shame spiral – not happening.
Compassionate awareness of the situation – totally happening.
Check you out!
Love,
Me
Dear Tiffany,
You’re home. You just made the bed with fresh sheets. You have not whipped out a notebook to make yourself a to do list for tomorrow, and that’s a win.
I love you.
– Me
