A heartfelt letter of hope for anyone struggling today—with 5 raw truths, a few laughs, and the reminder that you’re not alone in this mess.

Let me start with this: I once cried in a Taco Bell drive-thru because they were out of Baja Blast. Like, full-blown ugly cried. The guy at the window looked genuinely concerned and asked if I was okay. I told him it wasn’t about the soda. Which, of course, meant it was entirely about the soda… and also everything else I didn’t have the courage to name out loud.

That’s the thing about struggling—it doesn’t always wear a label or show up in obvious ways. Sometimes it looks like staying in bed until 2 p.m. with greasy hair and a phone at 2% battery. Sometimes it’s hyper-productivity, cleaning out the junk drawer while avoiding every single emotion like it’s a live grenade. And sometimes, it’s losing it over a discontinued menu item because you’ve reached your emotional bandwidth for the week.

I’ve had days where I felt like my heart was a giant, soggy cardboard box—falling apart at the corners, barely holding it together, definitely not waterproof. I’ve scrolled past motivational quotes with a mix of disdain and desperation. Like, “yes, I know I’m supposed to be strong, but can someone just bring me a grilled cheese and a nap instead?”

And yet—here I am. Still standing. Still writing. Still feeling the feels and putting words to the weird, hard, beautiful parts of being human. And if you’re here, reading this? That means you’re still showing up too. Maybe in pajamas. Maybe while procrastinating your to-do list. But you’re here. And that counts.

This isn’t going to be one of those sunshine-and-rainbows pep talks. I’m not here to tell you to “just think positive” or “manifest joy” or that struggle makes you stronger in the moment. Because frankly, some struggles just suck. They don’t always come with instant wisdom or feel-good Instagram captions.

But there are a few things I’ve learned from all my messy seasons—the sleepless nights, the quiet breakdowns, the uncomfortable growth spurts—and I want to share them with you. Not as a fix-it list. Not as a way to bypass the hard. But like a letter slid across the table, with smudged ink and soft truth, saying: “You’re not alone.”

So, if you’ve ever felt like you’re too much, not enough, or just bone-tired of trying—this is for you. These are five truths I come back to when everything feels like a little too much. Some are a little raw. Some might make you laugh. All of them come from lived experience, not a self-help manual.

Ready?

Let’s talk about what no one tells you when you’re barely hanging on.

1. Sometimes “Trying” Looks Like Crying in the Shower

There’s this weird myth that healing looks like green smoothies and sunrise journaling. But let me tell you—some days, it looks like sobbing in the shower while shampoo slowly slides into your eyeballs.

I used to think I had to be productive to be valid. That if I wasn’t moving forward—launching something, fixing something, helping someone—I was failing. But the truth? Sitting with your pain is still progress. Taking care of your mental health in tiny, un-Instagrammable ways is still trying.

If you’re someone struggling today, just know that surviving counts. Slowing down counts. So does brushing your teeth and unfollowing your ex on TikTok. Every small thing you do to stay grounded is a win.

“Rest is not laziness. It’s resistance in a burnout-obsessed world.”

Let the water run. Let yourself feel. You’re doing more than you think.

2. Your Rock Bottom Isn’t the End — It’s the Basement Gym

You know what’s fun? Hitting emotional rock bottom. Said no one, ever.

But here’s what I learned after mine: rock bottom isn’t just the worst—it’s weirdly foundational. It’s the place where things strip down to their barest truths. Where you learn what actually matters, and who’s still around when you’ve run out of pep.

At my lowest, I realized something radical: I didn’t have to earn love by being impressive. I was allowed to be broken and loved at the same time. Shocking, I know.

If you’re anyone struggling today and feeling like you’ve failed too hard to recover, remember—this version of you, the one curled up with self-doubt and ice cream? Still worthy. Still rebuilding.

You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re in training.

“This is your emotional comeback season—even if it starts in sweatpants.”

3. Not Every Season Has to Be Productive

There’s a strange pressure in our culture to “make something” of every hard thing. Like, if you’re sad, you better turn it into a blog, a business, or a personal brand. But what if… you just feel it?

I once had a 3-month phase where my biggest achievement was finishing New Girl on Netflix. And you know what? That season taught me more about grace than any goal-setting seminar.

We’re not designed to bloom every month. Some seasons are for rest, grief, or quietly unbecoming. There’s wisdom in the pause.

So if you’re in a slump right now, don’t force a glow-up. Tend to your roots. Make snacks. Wear the same hoodie three days in a row. Life will still be there when you’re ready.

“Healing isn’t hustle. You can grow slow and still be going somewhere.”

4. Your Worth Isn’t Based on Your Energy Level

I used to think being low-energy meant I was failing. Like, why can’t I just get it together and do all the things normal people do before 9 a.m.? Turns out, I’m just a deeply tired person with big feelings and a tiny social battery.

Sound familiar?

If you’re exhausted, it’s not because you’re lazy—it’s because you’re carrying a lot. Emotionally. Mentally. Existentially. Maybe even physically. Life is heavy. Especially when you’re someone struggling today and trying to pretend you’re fine.

You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to explain it. You’re not a robot. You’re a human with a soul and a stomach and a finite number of spoons.

Give yourself permission to rest without guilt.

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ to be enough.”

5. Some Days, Hope Is Just Choosing to Stay

I’m not always the queen of optimism. But one thing I’ve clung to, over and over, is this: even the tiniest act of staying counts as hope.

Staying doesn’t mean you’re smiling. It doesn’t mean you’re “better.” It means you’re here. You stayed. You chose to give tomorrow a chance, even if today felt impossible.

Hope isn’t a fireworks display. It’s lighting a candle in the dark, knowing it might go out, and still lighting it again.

To anyone struggling today: you don’t need to have a plan. You don’t need to be motivated. You just need to stay. Breathe. Drink water. Text a friend “hey.”

“Hope is messy, quiet, and stubborn. Just like you.”

Why This Really Matters

Look—this post wasn’t just a late-night emotional ramble (okay, maybe a little). It’s a reminder that in a world obsessed with fast fixes and “high vibes only,” it’s okay to fall apart and rebuild quietly.

These truths aren’t just cute quotes. They’re survival tools. They matter because you matter—not just when you’re thriving, but when you’re completely unraveling and trying to remember where you put your will to live (or your keys).

To anyone struggling today: You’re not broken. You’re becoming. Your hard days are not wasted space—they are sacred ground. The stuff you’re ashamed of? It’s shaping a more empathetic, grounded, beautifully complicated you.

Healing isn’t linear. Growth isn’t always pretty. But choosing to stay present—even in the mess—is wildly brave.

“Your softness in the struggle is not weakness. It’s your superpower.”

Conclusion: You Made It to the End—So Yeah, You’re a Fighter

Remember that Taco Bell breakdown I told you about? I made it through that day. And the one after it. And every other day I thought would undo me. So will you.

If you’re still reading, maybe you’re wrapped in a blanket right now. Maybe you’re sitting in a parking lot avoiding going inside. Maybe you’re just desperate to know that you’re not the only one who feels like a potato pretending to be a functioning adult. Either way—I see you. I am you.

You don’t need to fix everything today. You don’t need to glow, thrive, or become the best version of yourself. You just need to keep showing up, however messily that looks. And if that means crying over toast because life feels like a lot? That counts.

So here’s your permission slip:
Take a break. Be dramatic. Don’t answer texts. Binge your favorite show. Cry. Laugh at a meme. Let it be weird. Let it be human.

“Even on the days you don’t feel lovable—you are. Full stop.”

To anyone struggling today: you’re not alone. Not even close. And that matters more than you know.