Three months after losing my job, "What do you do?" feels like a trap. My days blur together. Coffee. Job applications. Rejection emails. But yesterday, I went to the park and just sat. I realized: I'm still here. Still breathing. Still valuable. Maybe this isn't a gap in my resume. Maybe it's a gap in time to remember who I was before I became what I did.

3:47 AM. Wide awake. Again. My mind reviews every mistake. I used to fight these thoughts. Now, I do something different. I name them. "Okay, Anxiety. I see you. Thanks for trying to protect me. But we're safe right now." Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. But at least I'm not fighting myself anymore.

Dinner for one. Again. It started as loneliness. But somewhere along the way, loneliness became solitude. I learned to like my own company. Started conversations with myself that actually went somewhere. The chair is still empty. But I'm not. And maybe that's enough for now.

I've spent my whole life chasing "better." My therapist asked: "What would happen if you were just good enough?" I'm trying it. Leaving dishes overnight. Sending emails with typos. And you know what? The world didn't end. I just became... easier on myself.

It starts around 4 PM every Sunday. That tightness in my chest. Tomorrow is Monday. I made a list: What am I actually afraid of? Turns out, I wasn't afraid of work. I was afraid of not being enough. I'm working on it. Setting boundaries. Sundays still feel heavy. But at least now I understand why.

I used to carry everyone's expectations like stones in my pockets. Each morning, I'd wake up heavier. Until one day, I couldn't get out of bed. That's when I learned: You can't pour from an empty cup. I started saying no. Small at first. Each "no" felt like dropping a stone. I'm still learning to walk lighter.