Every Part of Me Matters


Depression is a sneaky little devil.


One minute you’re just driving to Target on the hunt for Easter baskets for your kids when you find yourself unable to get out of the car.


It doesn’t matter if I mind my own business, smile on cue, or do all the right things. Sometimes, often, depression sneaks in and is suddenly sitting next to me, paralyzing all pleasure.


I’m sharing this because somewhere out there is a woman you know who appears to have it all together. One who dresses her kids well, shows up to play dates and performs accordingly. Maybe she’s a teacher, or a coffee barista, or a writer with a bright and happy newsfeed.


Maybe she’s you.


Mental health shouldn’t be so hush-hush. Some of us have to fight a little harder to find our joy and the last thing we should worry about is feeling shame for doing so.


So here I am, a girl who smiles at birthday cake and sometimes can’t get out of her car.


And that’s okay.


Every part of me matters.


To More Love,


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