narrate yourself getting out of bed. use kind words as you do so. open a window. go sit in the sun for a second. go hold something warm for a second. take deep breaths. take a shower. change your clothes. take deep breaths. eat food—something you like, hopefully. drink deeply of what nourishes you. remember that even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard, that these are the little labors of loving. and they are always worth doing
how do you just get up and deal with the fact that there’s a last time for everything. there was a last time you sat on your dads shoulders and there was a last time your mom tucked you into bed. there’s going to be a last time you kiss your sister on the head and there’s going to be a last time you hug your best friend. there’s going to be a last time you feel exactly as you feel right now and there’s going to be a last time that person says i love you. i need to lay down
Iain Thomas, The Light That Shines When Things End
you can build a home that is only loud with laughter. no broken glass, no broken plaster. a home that is warm, that is safe, where you can dance and sing and slowly heal. heal from the homes that weren’t quite as lovely. rebuild yourself and rebuild the broken pieces into a place that is full of love and light. a place where you can grow at your own pace, and embrace the years you missed. a house you can finally call home.
If you wouldn't go to someone for advice, don't take their criticism either.
