“Instead of focusing on how far you still have to go, take some time today to remind yourself of how far you’ve already come. Yes, you’re still struggling. And yes, you still have some distance to cover, but those things don’t discount the progress you’ve already made. Healing takes time. It’s not a process that can be rushed. Beating yourself up for not being further along doesn’t improve your situation. It makes you feel awful and it keeps you stuck. Your journey may be slow, but it’s not without promise. Despite how difficult this process has been, despite how hopeless you've felt, despite all of the people who have told you that you would never make it, you've never once given up. You've never stopped fighting and pushing forward. So give yourself some credit for that. It wasn't easy. But you did it, and you deserve to be proud of yourself. Let go of this idea that you should be further ahead, and trust that it's okay to be where you are. Trust that you won't be here forever. Trust that you will get to where you need to be. You’re doing the best you can each day to fight the darkness you feel, and that’s all you can ask of yourself. It's enough.”
—Daniell Koepke“We are more than the worst thing that’s ever happened to us. All of us need to stop apologizing for having been to hell and come back breathing. Your bad dreams are battle scars. What doesn’t kill you cuts fucking deep but scars are just skin growing back thicker when it heals. Let it heal you. Try. To be honest. Open. Even if some days that means saying, “I still feel broken. I’m too beat down to even get out of bed. But I have faith, yes, tomorrow I will stand." I’ll relearn justice. I’ll love without fear. I will be braver than some monster who crawled out from under my bed. I swear, I will not give him the satisfaction of being the thing that breaks me.”
—Clementine von Radics.My Heart is not Your Parachute
Only two kinds of people have ever held me:
the ones who think I am nothing but
a sack of calloused skin filled with
broken bones and
the ones who think I am nothing but
a corpse waiting to be brought back to life.
Somewhere between the age of 9 and 67
people start to translate “I love you” into
“I need you to save me.”
Even though the words never change.
Love does not fix broken things or
bring the dying back from the light—
it is not a defibrillator charged to 360,
and my heart is not a cast meant to hold in
all of your shattered pieces until they are whole.
Only two kinds of people have held me:
the ones who always thought I should
live with what love they gave me
and
the ones who always thought I would
stick around even when they didn’t give me
anything at all.
Not every bruised heart is a broken wing.
Not every splintered tree dies,
and even sad girls like me eventually learn
how to patch themselves up without help
and finally fly away.