The Smallest Things That Help on The Hardest Days

Breathe in, then out – five full breaths into your belly.

If that’s all you can do right now, it’s enough.

Some days arrive without any warning, but you recognise them as soon as they settle over you like heavy air: nothing is technically wrong, but everything feels a bit broken.

Or maybe something is wrong and you’re just trying to stay upright in the middle of it.

These are the hardest days. The ones where your body is present, but your mind is somewhere deep in a fog. The ones where even deciding what to eat feels like a battle you didn’t train for.

You don’t have to win today. You just have to be gentle.

The body goes first. Always.

Put your phone in a drawer. That’s the first thing.

I find I feel the worst when I’m stuck in that endless flickering of everyone else’s filtered life – when I don’t even realise I’ve been scrolling for hours and still feel like I’ve seen nothing. There’s a strange kind of emotional exhaustion that comes from digital noise, like too many tabs open in your brain.

So I put the phone away. Then I drink a glass of water. Then another. It’s almost annoying how much this helps. But I always forget until I do it.

Then I shower. Not because I want to – but because it feels like washing off whatever I’ve been dragging behind me. I imagine everything I can’t name – the mental clutter, the tightness in my chest, the small inner ache I didn’t notice – swirling down the drain.

I put on clean clothes. Not the “get-it-together” outfit, just the one that makes me feel like I’m allowed to exist. Soft fabrics, fresh undies. No pressure to perform.

Tiny wins count today.

Five minutes of tidying. That’s it. Plates in the sink, laundry in the basket, maybe the windows open even if it’s raining outside. When I can, I move a little – walking from one room to another. These acts don’t fix anything, but they shift something, just slightly.

They remind me I’m still here. Still trying.

Outside is different air.

The hardest days make you want to stay inside forever, but even a three-minute step out into the world can crack something open.

I walk around the block. Or I just stand at the window and stare at the sky, even when it's grey and unremarkable. Especially then. Nature doesn’t ask anything of me. It just continues.

Once, on a day like this, I watched a blackbird fly from one tree to the next, then across the block, carrying a single piece of dry grass in its beak. It looked a bit ridiculous.

Forget productivity. Today, your job is different.

Let go of the idea that you need to catch up, push through, or get a lot done. That’s not what today is asking of you.

On the hardest days, you don’t have to pretend to be okay. Your job is to pause. To notice what feels heavy inside. To take care of yourself in small ways.

There is no productivity metric for showing up as you are.

Drinking water counts.

Getting dressed counts.

Stepping outside for one minute counts.

Breathing with intention counts.

Everything else can wait.

And if you’ve made it to the end of today – or even just this paragraph – you’ve done something meaningful. Even if no one sees it.

You’re still here. And that matters more than you think.

Anything more? That’s bonus.