letters to dark days

grief, the spiral of healing, being alone, and also some helpful tips and recommendations

the last week and a half, i have been struggling. a lot. well, really, it started mid-December - it was like i was slowly running out of gas, or like i was a phone with a battery that was losing its capabilities to charge. not all at once - i would charge, but it would take longer and wouldn’t last as long as usual. it wasn’t until a week and a half into the new year that my battery would barely charge at all.

i have been exhausted.

in december, i wrote an article about embodying the hermit tarot energy.

There will be a time when she is the World or the Fool, where she will share more to flow outward. She trusts that she's only the Hermit right now. She knows the medicine of the moment, and she embraces where she is now. She isn't as occupied with the world outside, but she's more centered around navigating her rich and multi-faceted inner landscape.

There are mountains to climb, valleys to descend into, rivers to float on, storms to weather, trees to rest under, and an endless cycle of suns and moons to witness. The Hermit has her ladder, her hammer and nails, her level and her bricks, because she's building her home within herself. She isn't going to IKEA to pick out her sofa and dining tables and bed frame; she's asking the forest to borrow a tree, and she's building her dining table and she's tending the hearth fire of her heart.

i’ve been slowly building my home within myself, but recently, it feels more like i’m just lying in the center of my half completed living room, my tool belt sprawled around me, nothing quite built, nothing quite comfortably inhabitable yet. i’m just so tired.

it turns out, slowing down is tiring. it feels like all the chaos, all the rushing, all the high highs and low lows, and all the things i have yet to feel that are now not so patiently waiting to be felt are here, demanding to not wait any longer. the energy it took to build my front door and say those two little letters: n, o, was all i had left.

i’m not so much building my home, so much as i am needing a nap after i draw the blueprint. and then every time i wake up, i can’t find the blueprint, and the cycle continues.

i’m not someone who experiences seasonal depression. in fact, fall and winter feel quite warm to my bones even when there’s a chill on my flesh. i like that the world around me slows down. i happen to love the short days and long nights. i’ve always considered summer to be a time of seasonal challenge, but never winter.

plus, i live in a pocket of the world that gets chilly, but never cold cold. the days are still mostly sunshine. new mexico is a blessing in that way, unless you ask me in the summer when the heat makes me feel like drowning.

anyway.

all this to say… i’m just so fucking tired.

is it unprocessed grief? or rather, processed grief that needs to be processed once again, but this time with the experience and wisdom that i gained since the last time i processed it.

healing is a spiral, and i wish it felt as poetic as it sounds.

because you know what else is a spiral? a tornado or a hurricane. just because i know i’m healing, just because i know that i should be boundlessly proud of myself, i feel depleted.

today, i was at breakfast with my spouse, and the waitress was really lovely and attentive, and i heard my mother’s voice in my memory say, “we should give her an extra big tip.” she almost always liked to add, “i used to be a waitress too,” something i knew from the countless other times she had told me, and also something i knew i should just say, “mmmm” to, passively but just actively enough.

these mundane moments pierce me, and it takes so much not to sob in public. (then i would need to give an even bigger tip, probably.)

i’m so ready to not feel struck down at a memory that’s not even important. or maybe, those are the ones that feel extra important, because they are the ones that remind me of her the most.

leaving my house for anything other than a small errand feels like running a marathon. so do the small errands, actually, but they feel easier because there’s the promise of coming back soon.

even fun things with people i love feel impossible to do. spending time with myself and hearing the hermit speak to me, i realize this is because i have to wear the mask. the mask of “please don’t worry about me, actually, how are you?”

i can admit to people that i’m in a period of deep struggle and pain, but when it comes to taking up space in the moment, or even just letting my pain show on my face, i feel incapable.

because, in my mind, if i admit how i really am, i become less lovable. i have become a burden, a bummer, a disappointment, or a drain. people don’t mind holding space for a bad day, but when the days are mostly cloudy, people tend to feel less patient.

one of the things i’ve learned, right after my mother passed, was that people like to say, “take time for you, say no, take care of yourself,” but what they actually mean is, “take time for you, say no, take care of yourself, unless you say no to me or it comes at my expense.” everyone wants you to advocate for your needs with other people, as long as it doesn’t impact them. my grief most often goes unacknowledged because i’m not in obvious outward crisis. i was lonely in the early days of grief, but the loneliness feels more chilling now. it feels more settled. and yet, it feels new still. to me. but i’m outside the societal limit for the space i can take up.

part of me feels like i’m listening to my animal body and the earth’s wisdom by staying home and doing less. part of me feels content to read substack articles in bed when i wake up, then work, then write on my lunch break, then work, then walk the dogs, then make dinner, then watch an episode of modern family, and then go read in bed. i don’t want to do much more. i don’t want to put on real pants. i don’t want to put on my mask and pretend to have energy i don’t have. i don’t want to do more than i can do. i don’t want to push or pull or strain or exert beyond those things. i want my biggest accomplishment of the day to be that i made my bed and went to sleep on time.

and part of me feels ashamed. am i doing this wrong? should i be pushing harder? should i be more resilient? should i be more social? should i be more active? hasn’t it been long enough? aren’t i disappointing everyone else?

i don’t really know how to end this, because i’m not sure this essay has a snappy ending. i suppose i’ll end this on a bright note:

a list of things i’ve been doing to make the dark days sweeter:

1. taking more baths. i don’t know why, but showering sounds exhausting. bathing sounds luxurious.

2. putting lotion on after said bath. i think most people do this, but i usually can’t be bothered. i usually don’t feel like it. now, i’m trying to be more loving toward my body. taking the time to make it feel a little softer is a way i can show love.

3. limiting social media. which is easier now that tiktok is banned in the US and instagram is a shit show. my digital routine has been more centered around reading substack essays and new york times articles (even though they bum me out), and doing the crossword and other games on the NYT app.

4. the other apps i’m loving:

finch: a self care app where you have to take care of a bird by completing self care tasks. you also can connect with friends and send encouragement. i highly recommend.

lapse: it’s like snapchat meets Ig stories. i have two friends and i like to “journal” my photos everyday so they can be reminded that i still have dogs and like coffee.

forest: i even spent $3.99 on it. you grow a digital forest by setting a block of time to not be on your phone, and then sticking to it. supposedly, they also plant real trees too, but i don’t know how this works.

side note… this is very cool, but it always makes me question when good deeds like planting trees or donating hygiene products is contingent on consumerism. like, why not just give a set amount of tampons away? why not plant trees without me paying 4 dollars?

anyway.

libby: i fear that young adult readers have forgotten about this novel concept of libraries. you don’t have to buy a book from amazon. (you can order from a local library or thrift books just as easily.) you don’t even have to buy the book at all. i think home libraries are very cool, and obviously, when i’m rick and famous, i do want a library in my house and i do want the belle sliding built in ladder. obviously. but i have to say it: no one needs an at home library unless 1) you’re a victorian male character who’s going to hire a young female nanny in the middle of nowhere and permit her to read the books in said library, because, of course, she loves to read, or 2) you plan on kidnapping a local girl and holding her hostage to stockholm syndrome her until falling in love with you. or some other third reason, i guess. but my point is: you don’t need to build an at home library. that’s what external libraries are for.

5. drinking more tea, less coffee. my theory is that the extreme caffeine in my nespresso pods or my local coffee shops oat milk vanilla latte is causing more nervous system disturbance, so i’ve made the very brave and scary decision to cut back and drink tea most days instead. i know. such braverism.

6. making my bed. we really fell out of the habit of making the bed every day in the second half of 2024, and now that we are back to making the bed, i see why everyone always says you should. it’s just better.

7. consuming media mindfully. we have been watching season one of severance, and i really like it. and, thrillers tend to really mess with my neurodivergent mind and overwhelm me quickly. because of this, i only watch one episode at a time, and only when i feel regulated and calm. and no disturbing content. i watched the first chunk of the mad max prequel and cried for 45 minutes because i was so overwhelmed (and triggered af). most evenings, it’s 1-2 episodes of modern family, and then time to go read in my clean bed.

8. opening the curtains every morning. i like to call it waking up the house. it feels bright and i like personifying things.

9. setting the vibe. sure, i can slouch in front of my laptop at a messy kitchen table. or, i can turn on my string lights and my lamp and play some vibey music and light a candle. one of those options feels sad and mundane, and the other feels cozy and romantic.

10. lastly, practicing basic beauty care. i used to never wear perfume at home, just when i went out. i started to realize that i cared about how strangers at trader joe’s thought i smelled than my spouse or, you know, me. it seemed not right. so, now, i do the barest of bare: i curl my eyelashes, comb my eyebrows, put on my pandora bracelet, do one small spray of perfume, and change my pajamas. even if i’m putting on sweats and a shirt, i still need to change every day. the small effort goes a long way.

i hope that rambling bummer of a post didn’t leave you feeling sad. but rather, i hope it made you feel less alone, more connected, and maybe even a little inspired?

you may also like…