On Days Where It's Hard To Keep Breathing

I have this knot in the center of my chest, where my ribs meet. I don't know if anyone else could feel it, but I can't help but notice it's presence. It's there, whenever I breathe in, and I push past it to breathe out. I can't escape the extra weight. It flares up whenever someone asks me how I am, whenever someone stops for a second and really looks at me. I choke. I would rather no one sees me, on days like this. Not in a big "I don't matter" kind of way, but more that I am so lost in my mind that it would be easier if I didn't matter, because I do not want to be a hurricane for anyone else.

Here's what I do on days like today:

1. I keep breathing. I push past the weight and let air fill my lungs. I try to not hold on to it so tightly. 

2. I listen to the music that I want to. This looks a little different day by day, week by week. Right now, some songs I have on repeat are "Surface Pressure" (Encanto), "Why" and "Come to Your Senses" (Tick, Tick...Boom), and "Underground" (Cody Fry...the studio sessions version). Music is something that grounds me. These days, I need that. It helps me stay here, in the time and place that I am.

3. I write. Sometimes public stuff, like this, but often just for me. If I collect all those journals, I might as well use them. I give myself grace with words. I get bogged down in my perfectionist habits when it comes to writing, so I try to give myself a little space to write badly. I can live with writing badly, if I am at least writing honestly. 

4. I get a priesthood blessing. I am grateful for friends and new friends who are willing to ask for me when I cannot get the words out. I am grateful for the accessibility to priesthood holders who can give a blessing to a near-stranger at a drop of a hat, in a hallway of a church building. I am blessed to be surrounded by people who remind me there are blessings for those who serve us, not just when you are the one in the act of service. 

5. I pray. I work on giving my Heavenly Parents my grief and fear, as well as my praise and gratitude. I do my best to be myself in my calls to heaven. 

6. I go outside. I make a point to feel the grass beneath my feet, to see the sky with my own eyes and not simply through the window. I wait for the sunset, or sunrise, depending on the time. I look around me and remind myself how beautiful it is that we are simply living, amongst so many others who are doing the same. 

7. I breathe, again. I make a point to notice and be glad that despite all odds, I am still here. I am still living. There is still so much around me that is beautiful. There are still so many people that are good. There is an abundance of things and experiences surrounding me that remind me that it is worth living, if it means I can keep seeing and experiencing all of this. 

It is a hard day. It is a good life.

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