Yesterday I helped a family bury their dog. We accompanied him to his last breath. A dear, dear fighter — for those he loved. I read Psalm 23 to the family — so they could see: even this dark valley passes.
In the evening I thought: now I will do something good for myself. I went out to celebrate. Into bed at six in the morning, fell straight asleep. Up again at two in the afternoon. The day was depressive.
The day before had been a reason. On top of that, I am forty and have a history that tells me today: bad days are allowed.
For a long time I believed differently. In my childhood and youth there were no bad days. There were days on which you had to function. Full stop.
Loving myself — with family, with friends — turned that around. Today I know: when I swim against a bad day, the next one comes. And the one after that. When I accept it, I surf it. Like a wave. It lifts me, it lowers me, it moves on.
Physically I notice it first in the tiredness. I am exhausted. And suddenly I look at everything differently. I believe, in phases like these, I react more strongly to what I carry within me. Sometimes I perhaps even attract it.
What would have truly done me good on Sunday? Forest. Solitude. The forest lives — you feel that when you stand in it. The trees look after each other and after those who pass through. Hard to describe. But it carries.
Instead I went to bed at six. Also okay. I note it for next time.
My emergency kit when a day like that comes: my own music, the forest, lighting a candle, good conversations — sometimes about the psyche, sometimes about everything else. And the question I ask myself as soon as I notice things are getting tight: what is good for me?
Saying no to myself is part of it. Still difficult.
Guilt? No. Shame barely either. I feel guilt only for things I have genuinely messed up. And since I understand mistakes as part of learning, I have even grown to like them. They show me where to go next.
If someone asks, I say: not my day. Nothing more is needed.
If you are in the middle of it right now and do not know how to go on: this too shall pass.
Without shadow, no light. Everything is okay.
By René Jochum, Claude (Anthropic) and Vibe (Mistral). License: CC-BY-4.0.