A thank you note
I’m writing a thank you note to myself. I’ve been through a lot this year. So saying, “Thank You!” feels like an uplifting thing to do.

Dearest Danielle,

Prioritizing yourself has been your mission. Self-care has certianly kicked your butt. I never knew how hard it was to actually care for a human being, especially these girls, the girl you used to be and the one you’re becoming.

Remember that girl?

The girl who was afraid of her own shaddow. The girl who was as uncertain of the wind changing as sensing her own needs. She second guessed everything that she did. She worried constantly about the state of her relationship, as if it was the state of planet earth. She would wonder what was wrong with her for having these demons. The questions about the next right thing haunted her. They caused her to doubt whether her choices were good enough, whether she was good enough. Was she enough? Well, was she?

She was the girl who got stuck in the quicksand of her own mind. Getting sucked down into the abyss of sticky judgments and exaggerated retellings of the day’s events. Down there, she tried to calculate just how it was that everyone else seemed to do it all and so much more smoothly than her. How in the world did they not drown in furious scrolling, intense games, or anesthetize themselves with a screen just to take the edge off? She watched them float through the world without lead balloons to pull them back to reality. And she envied them. The people who could bob on the surface of their lives without getting trapped in the undercurrent.

Somehow through all of your efforts, dear Danielle, you’ve yanked this girl out of the hole she had dug for herself. You forced her to change not only by waking her up from the trance of crisis mode, but resetting her operational state.

How’d you do it? What is your secret?

I’m not altogether sure of the recipe that encapsulates all of the actions that I took to get me from where I was in the spring to where I sit now. I don’t know measurements, or the ammount of intention over action. But what I can do is give an ingredient list.

Self-Care Bootcamp for the Suicidal, Overly Anxious ADHD girl

1. Kindness. Gentleness. Ease.

For all of what you’re about to do, you are going to be so overly judgemental, furious at yourself, and doubting every single move you make. The cure is the anthesis of the poision. Treating yourself with gentleness, proceeding with a easy pace, and holding kindness for yourself in your heart.

Yeah, it’s tough. I didn’t say this was easy or that it would go down smoothly. Taking real good care ain’t either of those things.

2. Feed yourself.

Meaning you need to make full meals for yourself at least three times a day. (And for you, that means two snacks in between. And no coffee does NOT count). That includes taking the time to boil, bake, prepare, warm, or microwave your food.

Taking care means caring for the things you put in your body. And yes this takes time. Self-care is an investment you make in yourself, and that includes the resource of time, not just money.

3. Go on a walk.

This is fairly self-explanatory. But somehow the pathway from my apartment door becomes blocked by a domineering invisible force pulling me back to my comfy spot on
the couch.

Going outside takes reason, a spark, a force that pushes you from stillness into motion.

The cure of fresh air, sunlight, the shade of trees, birdsong, as well as people and pets along the way makes you feel like you are a part of the world. The real one, and not just the one in you tell yourself about in your endless self-narrating monologue.

4. Make time for friends

They will remind you of who you really are. The confident, silly, expressive soul that lay dormant for too long. Their words of encouragement, their solidarity, their company, and their spirit of congeniality smooths your ripples of doubt.

Remind yourself that they really do care about you. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, and it’s ok to ask for what you need, even if it’s just a reminder of how worthy you are of their friendship.

5. Time.

Nothing meaningful changes immediately. Here’s the biggest investment you will ever make in yourself. Moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years; every millisecond of one breath adds up like pennies in a piggy bank.

You empty yourself out for your job, your relationships, for your projects; now is time to refill and heal the wounds that the world inevitably causes. Whether that’s therapy, support groups, deep conversations with friends, journaling, saying “No”, saying “YES!”, singing, crying, punching something, having a conversation with someone who hurt you, setting a boundary, reminding yourself that you’re human and it’s ok to make mistakes, apologizing, asking for an apology, and intentionally not appologizing.

All of the above take the investment of time, practice, and prioritization. None of these are easy things, and there’s no one right path. Trusting that inner voice is key. Returning to your body long enough to know what it needs takes consistency.

6. Rest

Stop. All of it. Shut it down! Turn it off.

You don’t need to show up for the thing after you stopped for long enough to realize you’re tired and would rather stay home.
Just like the great Courtney Barnet sings, “You don’t have to go to the party.” Just because someone expects you to make an appearance, you’re the one you have to answer to in the morning. The expectations of others is an invisible cage. Just unlock that door and you’ll see how little sense staying in there makes.

I realize I’ve gotten this far in my letter without thanking myself. That’s what this is supposed to be; a letter of sincere gratitude.

What I am truly humbled by, besides doing those 6 things, is making one great act of forgiveness. I forgave myself. I have forgiven myself for the time that I took to heal.

And that is big. I felt so much relief when I reached that space where I could release the guilt, shame, and anger I held towards myself. All of that was self-imposed but nothing that I need to own.

I have released that lead balloon and now can rise a little higher.

Thank you, Danielle, for taking care of yourself. It has made the joy I’ve felt these last weeks possible.

Here’s to moving onwards and upwards.