Therapy Bits

Some mornings feel like borrowed air,
thin and heavy all at once.
I wake with a chest full of questions
and a mind that won’t sit still,
every thought pacing the floor
like it forgot how to rest.

Depression moves in quietly,
sets its coat on my shoulders,
tells me I am made of less today.
Anxiety speaks faster—
a thousand futures shouting at once,
none of them kind, all of them loud.

I walk through hours like fog,
smiling where I remember to,
breaking where no one sees.
Hope feels distant, almost impolite,
as if it’s unsure whether it’s welcome,
as if I’m not sure either.

Still, somewhere beneath the noise,
there is a small, stubborn waiting—
an expectant pause in my breathing,
a belief I don’t fully trust yet,
that this heaviness is not the whole story,
that surviving is a form of courage.

And maybe healing doesn’t arrive all at once.
Maybe it comes quietly,
like light learning how to enter a room again,
teaching me, slowly,
that I am allowed to stay.

FOWC With Fandango — Expectant – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies