I wake up every day where I always said I wanted to be and still I wonder if he’ll ever love me like I think I need him to or if I’ll ever again feel as proud as I did telling people I was moving to New York.

He cooks and cleans and walks our dogs in the morning so that I can get that extra 15 minutes of sleep I swear I need to be happy and I spend my time talking myself out of doing what I love most for the fear of finding out that I could get everything I’ve ever wanted out of life and still not be happy; terrified to find out with certainty what I’ve always known to be true: I don’t know how to be happy.

So I am starting my 28th year of life trying to be positive, reminding myself daily how lucky I am just to be breathing, no matter how shallow the breath. I am starting my 28th year by climbing out of a big, dark, freezing, pool of depression and I’m sitting here, clothes still drenched in sadness, and I am trying. I’m walking on sunny sides of streets, I’m drinking more water, I’m brushing my hair at least half of the week and I’m crying during the second to last song at Soulcycle because it’s the only healthy release I know.

I am trying – to kick, push, or even doggy-paddle my way to the other side of this.




The thing about sadness is that it follows you wherever you go. It’s a part of you. There’s no bed, no city, no person that can take it out of you and you sure as hell can’t out run it. You have to hold its hand. Wrap yourself in your sadness when your cold, get to know it. Keep it close even when you’re happy. It’ll make everything that much sweeter. Once you’ve grown accustomed to it you’ll grow within it, along side it, and eventually out grow it all together. But you can’t force a square into a circle. It’s a process of transformation. Give it time.