Quotes

Woman standing alone in a dark room, representing the loneliness and self-abandonment that can come from waiting to be chosen

Slay Slay

When Waiting to Be Chosen Means Leaving Yourself Behind

Most of us know what it feels like to want to be chosen.

By a partner.

A friend.

An employer.

An opportunity.

A room we desperately want to belong in.

We want someone to look at us and say, “Yes. You.”

And there’s nothing wrong with wanting that.

The problem begins when being chosen becomes so important that we start abandoning pieces of ourselves to make it happen.

We become easier.

Quieter.

More agreeable.

We ask for less.

We tolerate more.

We pretend something doesn’t hurt because admitting that it does might make us difficult.

We stay available to people who are inconsistent with us.

We keep proving our value to people who have already shown us how little they’re willing to invest.

We accept opportunities that require us to become smaller versions of ourselves because being included feels better than being left out.

And all the while, we’re waiting.

Waiting for someone else to recognize our worth.

Waiting for them to commit.

Waiting for the invitation.

Waiting for the opportunity.

Waiting for someone to finally choose us.

But there’s another question we may not be asking:

What are we choosing while we wait?

Are we choosing relationships where our needs matter?

Are we choosing environments where we can actually be ourselves?

Are we choosing opportunities that respect what we bring to them?

Are we choosing a life that feels like ours?

Or are we repeatedly choosing against ourselves in the hope that someone else eventually chooses us?

That’s the part that can be difficult to see.

Because self-abandonment doesn’t always look dramatic.

Sometimes it looks like saying “It’s fine” when it isn’t.

Staying when you know you want to leave.

Shrinking a boundary because someone doesn’t like it.

Ignoring your own instincts because you’re afraid of losing the opportunity.

Convincing yourself that wanting more makes you ungrateful.

Becoming whoever you think you need to be to remain wanted.

And none of this means we should never compromise, adapt, or make room for other people.

Relationships require flexibility.

Careers require collaboration.

Life will sometimes ask us to bend.

But bending is different from disappearing.

There comes a point when we have to notice whether our desire to be chosen is costing us our relationship with ourselves.

Because being chosen by someone else cannot compensate for repeatedly choosing against yourself.

Maybe the question isn’t only:

“Will they choose me?”

Maybe it’s:

“Do I choose who I have to become to stay here?”

This is your reminder:

You can spend years waiting to be chosen without noticing how often you abandon yourself.

Slay on.

Person covering their face, representing the emotional weight of carrying responsibilities that may not belong to them

Slay Say

Knowing What Isn’t Yours to Carry

Some of us become very good at carrying things.

Responsibility.

Other people’s expectations.

Extra work.

Problems that aren’t really ours to solve.

Emotional weight that someone else quietly handed us.

And because we’re capable of carrying it, we do.

We figure it out.

We make room.

We adjust.

We tell ourselves it’s fine because, technically, we can handle it.

But being capable of carrying something and being responsible for carrying it are not the same thing.

Sometimes our competence works against us.

People learn that we’ll take care of it.

That we’ll step in.

That we’ll absorb the extra work, smooth over the problem, make the call, fix the mistake, keep things moving.

And after a while, what began as something we could do starts to feel like something we’re supposed to do.

We can do this to ourselves, too.

We keep carrying an obligation because we’ve always carried it.

We stay responsible for something because we’re good at it.

We continue showing up in a role long after we’ve stopped asking whether that role still belongs to us.

And sometimes we mistake our ability to endure the weight for evidence that we should keep holding it.

But capacity isn’t obligation.

You can be good at something and decide you don’t want to do it anymore.

You can care about someone and recognize that their problem isn’t yours to solve.

You can be strong enough to handle a difficult situation and still decide it isn’t healthy for you to remain in it.

You can have room on your plate and choose not to fill it.

None of that diminishes what you’re capable of.

It simply means you’ve started asking a different question.

Not:

“Can I handle this?”

But:

“Is this actually mine to carry?”

Because sometimes strength isn’t demonstrated by how much weight we can hold.

Sometimes it’s recognizing which weight was never ours in the first place.

This is your reminder:

Being capable of carrying something doesn’t mean it belongs in your hands.

Slay on.

Woman sitting by a window resting, representing the importance of taking time to rest before reaching exhaustion

Slay Say

When Rest Becomes Something You Have to Earn

We’re very good at finding reasons not to rest.

There’s still work to do.

Someone needs something from us.

The house isn’t clean.

The inbox isn’t empty.

We haven’t accomplished enough today.

We could keep going.

So we do.

And somewhere along the way, rest stops being a normal part of taking care of ourselves and becomes something we think we have to earn.

We give ourselves permission to stop only after we’ve reached some invisible threshold of exhaustion.

When we can’t concentrate anymore.

When we’re irritable with everyone around us.

When our bodies start complaining.

When we’re staring at the same thing we’ve been working on for twenty minutes and accomplishing absolutely nothing.

Then we finally decide we’re tired enough to deserve a break.

But why does exhaustion have to be the price of admission?

Rest isn’t only for recovery after we’ve depleted ourselves.

It’s also one of the things that keeps us from becoming depleted in the first place.

That doesn’t mean abandoning our responsibilities every time we feel tired.

There will be long days.

There will be deadlines.

There will be seasons when life asks more of us than usual.

And sometimes we genuinely do need to push through.

The problem is when pushing through becomes our default setting.

When stopping makes us feel lazy.

When taking an afternoon off comes with guilt.

When sitting down before everything is finished feels irresponsible.

When we believe rest is only justified once continuing is no longer possible.

Because there will almost always be something else you could do.

Another email.

Another task.

Another load of laundry.

Another thing you could cross off the list before allowing yourself to stop.

If your standard for rest is “everything is done,” you may spend your entire life waiting for permission that never comes.

Learning to rest before you’re exhausted isn’t laziness.

It’s recognizing that your energy is something worth caring for, not just something to use until it’s gone.

Sometimes taking care of yourself means stopping while you still have something left.

This is your reminder:

You don’t have to earn rest by reaching the point where you can’t keep going.

Slay on.

Black-and-white long-exposure photograph of a crowd moving through a busy underground pedestrian corridor.

Slay Say

When Belonging Starts Making Your Choices

We all want to belong.

To have people who know us. A place where we fit. A circle where we don’t have to explain every part of ourselves before we’re understood.

Belonging is powerful.

Which is exactly why it can become dangerous when keeping it starts mattering more than growing.

Most influence doesn’t announce itself.

Nobody has to sit you down and tell you who to become.

Sometimes it happens through a laugh when you mention something you want to pursue.

A look when you make a different choice.

The teasing that starts when you take something seriously.

The invitation that stops coming when your priorities change.

The subtle suggestion that you’re becoming too ambitious, too disciplined, too different, too much.

So you adjust.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

You downplay what matters to you.

You postpone the thing you were excited about.

You participate in something you’ve outgrown because everyone else still does.

You keep an opinion to yourself because you already know how the room will respond.

You make choices that preserve your place in the group, even when those choices move you further away from the person you’re trying to become.

That’s the complicated thing about belonging.

It can make conformity feel like loyalty.

And sometimes we don’t realize how much we’ve been influenced because nobody explicitly asked us to change.

We simply learned what version of ourselves receives the warmest response.

This isn’t about blaming your friends for your life.

We are responsible for our own choices.

And being surrounded by people who live differently from you doesn’t automatically mean you need new people. Healthy relationships can hold different ambitions, values, lifestyles, opinions, and definitions of success.

The question is whether those differences leave room for you to become more fully yourself.

Can you change without being punished for changing?

Can you become more disciplined without being mocked for taking yourself too seriously?

Can you drink less, spend differently, change careers, leave a relationship, start a business, set new boundaries, develop new beliefs, or want something bigger without having to make yourself smaller afterward so everyone feels comfortable again?

Because sometimes the people we love aren’t intentionally holding us back.

They’re simply attached to the version of us that fits neatly into the relationship they already understand.

And when we begin changing, the relationship has to change too.

That can be uncomfortable for everyone.

Growth disrupts familiar roles.

The person who always said yes starts saying no.

The one who never took risks starts taking them.

The friend who participated in every complaint stops wanting to spend hours talking about problems nobody intends to solve.

The person who once needed everyone’s approval starts making decisions without asking for it.

Suddenly, the old rhythm doesn’t work.

And this is where belonging gets tested.

Because there will be moments when becoming who you want to be costs you the comfort of being who everyone expects you to be.

That doesn’t mean you have to abandon everyone from your past.

It means you have to notice when your fear of losing connection begins negotiating away pieces of yourself.

Pay attention to the choices you make when you’re with certain people.

Do you become more courageous or more cautious?

More curious or more cynical?

More disciplined or more careless?

Do you leave feeling expanded, or do you find yourself quietly returning to habits and thinking you were trying to leave behind?

The people around us influence what begins to feel normal.

And what feels normal has enormous power over what we believe is possible.

Choose relationships where growth doesn’t threaten belonging.

Where changing your mind isn’t betrayal.

Where wanting more for yourself isn’t treated as rejection.

Where becoming someone new doesn’t require apologizing to everyone who knew you before.

This is your reminder:

The right people won’t require you to trade your future for your place beside them.

Slay on.

Black and white image of a woman lying in the grass with her eyes closed, reflecting on memory, loss, and letting go of something that once mattered.

Slay Say

Missing It Doesn’t Mean You Want It Back

One of the more confusing parts of letting go is discovering that you can know something wasn’t right for you and still miss it.

You can miss the person.

The place.

The routine.

The version of yourself that existed there.

The plans you made.

The way certain moments felt.

The comfort of knowing what tomorrow was probably going to look like.

And when that longing shows up, it can make you question decisions you thought you had already made peace with.

Maybe I made a mistake.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Maybe I should have tried harder.

Maybe I gave up too soon.

Maybe I should go back.

But missing something isn’t always evidence that it belongs in your life.

Sometimes it’s simply evidence that it mattered.

We tend to rewrite things when we’re grieving them.

Distance softens certain memories.

We remember the laughter without remembering the tension that followed it.

The beautiful moments without the loneliness between them.

The security without the limitation.

The chemistry without the instability.

The good days without how much energy it took to recover from the bad ones.

We remember what something gave us and temporarily lose sight of what we had to give up to receive it.

That doesn’t mean the good wasn’t real.

It was.

That’s often what makes leaving so difficult.

If something had been entirely terrible, there probably wouldn’t have been much to grieve.

Most complicated endings are complicated precisely because something valuable existed alongside something that was hurting us.

A relationship can contain love and still require you to abandon too much of yourself.

A job can give you purpose while consuming your life.

A friendship can hold years of beautiful history while no longer being healthy in the present.

A dream can once have been exactly what you wanted and eventually become something you have to release.

Even a version of yourself can be difficult to leave behind.

Maybe that person felt safer.

Needed less.

Risked less.

Expected less.

Stayed where things were familiar.

There can be comfort in remembering them, even when you know you don’t want to become them again.

That’s why nostalgia deserves a little scrutiny.

It has a selective memory.

It can show you the highlight reel and quietly edit out the price of admission.

And you don’t have to ruin the memory to justify moving forward.

You don’t need to turn someone into a villain.

You don’t have to decide the entire experience was a mistake.

You don’t have to deny that you were happy sometimes.

You can treasure parts of something and still know the whole of it no longer belongs in your life.

Both can be true.

You can miss the Sunday mornings and not miss the arguments.

You can miss being needed and not miss being depleted.

You can miss the excitement and not miss the uncertainty.

You can miss who someone was to you without wanting the relationship you actually had.

You can miss the dream without wanting the reality it became.

That isn’t confusion.

It’s the ability to hold a more complete truth.

Healing doesn’t always end with indifference.

Sometimes you carry affection.

Sometimes you carry gratitude.

Sometimes a song, a photograph, a familiar street, or an ordinary Tuesday brings something rushing back and you feel the loss all over again.

Let yourself.

A memory doesn’t require a reunion.

Longing doesn’t require action.

Missing something doesn’t automatically mean you should return to it.

Sometimes your heart is simply remembering what was beautiful while your wisdom remembers what it cost.

You’re allowed to honor both.

This is your reminder:

Missing what was good doesn’t require forgetting why you left.

Slay on.

Black and white image of two friends running together on a beach, representing friendship, joy, celebration, and sharing life’s happy moments.

Slay Say

Make Room for the Good Days

We learn a lot about people when life gets difficult.

Who calls.

Who stays.

Who listens without trying to fix everything.

Who sits beside us when there’s nothing useful to say.

Those people matter.

There is something deeply meaningful about knowing who will walk into the storm with you instead of waiting somewhere comfortable for it to pass.

But there’s another side of friendship and love that we don’t talk about nearly as much.

Who knows how to be happy with you?

Who celebrates when something wonderful happens?

Who can hear your good news without immediately comparing it to their own life?

Who lets your moment remain your moment?

Who gets excited when you’re excited, even when what you’re celebrating has nothing to do with them?

Because sometimes people are surprisingly comfortable with us when we’re struggling.

There can be familiarity in those roles.

They know how to comfort us.

They know how to advise us.

They know how to be needed.

But when things begin going well, the dynamic can change.

You get the opportunity.

You fall in love.

You start feeling better.

You become more confident.

You accomplish the thing you’ve been working toward.

You finally have something you’re genuinely proud of.

And suddenly the response feels different.

The enthusiasm is muted.

The conversation changes quickly.

The compliment comes with a qualification.

The celebration somehow becomes a comparison.

Or you find yourself shrinking your excitement because you can feel that your happiness is making someone else uncomfortable.

That can be difficult to recognize, especially when someone has been there for you during hard times.

We naturally assume that anyone willing to hold us while we’re hurting will also be able to cheer when we’re thriving.

But those are different kinds of generosity.

Supporting someone through pain requires compassion.

Celebrating someone else’s happiness can require security.

It asks us to recognize that another person receiving something wonderful doesn’t mean there is less available for us.

Their success isn’t evidence of our failure.

Their relationship doesn’t diminish our own life.

Their confidence isn’t arrogance simply because we’re still finding ours.

Their joy doesn’t need to be reduced to make everyone else comfortable.

And this isn’t about expecting people to throw confetti every time something goes our way.

Friendship isn’t a permanent pep rally.

People have their own lives, struggles, disappointments, and difficult days.

Sometimes someone loves you deeply and simply doesn’t have much celebration in them that day.

But over time, you notice the difference between someone having a hard moment and someone who consistently has a hard time with your happiness.

Pay attention to the people who make room for both.

The ones who can hear the messy story and the wonderful one.

Who can sit quietly beside your grief and laugh loudly beside your joy.

Who don’t need you to be struggling to feel connected to you.

Who remind you that relationships aren’t only places where we carry each other through difficult things.

They’re also where we get to share what makes being alive wonderful.

You deserve people who can hold space for the whole of your life.

And you should strive to be that person for the people you love, too.

Show up when it hurts.

But when something beautiful happens for them, show up for that.

Say congratulations and mean it.

Ask them to tell you everything.

Let them be proud.

Let them take up space in their happiness.

Add to the joy instead of measuring yourself against it.

Because some of the people who matter most in our lives won’t only help us survive our hardest chapters.

They’ll make the good ones even better because we get to share them.

This is your reminder:

Pay attention to the people who make your happiness feel safe to share.

Slay on.

Black and white image of a woman looking at her reflection, representing personal growth, change, and evolving beyond an earlier version of yourself.

Slay Say

When Who You Were Can’t Take You Where You’re Going

Every version of you has had a job to do.

There was a version who learned how to survive.

One who became independent because relying on other people felt risky.

One who learned to keep the peace.

One who worked harder than everyone else because achievement became proof of worth.

One who stayed guarded because being vulnerable had once been expensive.

One who said yes because disappointing people felt worse than disappointing yourself.

Those versions of you weren’t mistakes.

They developed for reasons.

They helped you navigate the life you were living with the tools, understanding, and circumstances you had at the time.

Some of them got you through things you weren’t sure you could survive.

But something can save you in one chapter and limit you in the next.

The independence that once protected you can make it difficult to ask for help.

The walls that kept you safe can prevent anyone from getting close.

The drive that helped you succeed can make rest feel like failure.

The ability to keep everyone happy can leave you disconnected from what you actually want.

The habit of expecting the worst can protect you from disappointment while making it difficult to recognize when something good has arrived.

And that’s where growth gets complicated.

Because we become attached to the qualities that helped us get here.

We call them personality.

We say, That’s just who I am.

But sometimes what feels like identity is actually adaptation.

And eventually, life may ask something different from you.

Not because who you were was wrong.

Because where you’re going requires something new.

Maybe strength now means letting someone help you.

Maybe confidence means admitting you don’t know.

Maybe loyalty means choosing yourself.

Maybe courage means becoming visible after years of making yourself small.

Maybe success means building a life you actually enjoy instead of one that simply looks impressive.

Growth doesn’t always require becoming more.

Sometimes it requires releasing what you no longer need.

That can feel surprisingly uncomfortable.

There is familiarity in our old ways of being, even when they’re exhausting.

We know how to survive with them.

We know who we are inside them.

Changing means entering a space where the old rules no longer apply and the new ones haven’t become natural yet.

You may feel less capable for a while.

Less certain.

Less like yourself.

But perhaps that discomfort isn’t evidence that you’re losing yourself.

Perhaps you’re discovering which parts of you were built for a life you’re no longer living.

You don’t have to reject who you were to become who you’re becoming.

Thank that version of you.

Honor what they carried.

Recognize what they made possible.

Then allow them to put the bags down.

You can appreciate the person who got you this far without asking them to lead you forever.

Because the next chapter may require a version of you who trusts more, receives more, risks differently, speaks more clearly, rests without guilt, or finally chooses according to what you want now.

This is your reminder:

Growth sometimes means retiring the survival skills that have finished their job.

Slay on.

Black and white image of a person standing in an open doorway surrounded by darkness, representing choice, possibility, and discernment.

Slay Say

Not Every Door Needs to Be Opened

We’re often told to keep our options open.

Take the chance.

Say yes.

See what happens.

Give it a shot because you might regret it if you don’t.

And sometimes that advice is exactly what we need.

Fear can keep us standing safely outside experiences that could change our lives. Growth often requires uncertainty, and there are opportunities we would never discover if we waited until we knew exactly how everything would turn out.

But not every hesitation is fear.

Sometimes it’s discernment.

There are moments when we already have enough information to know that something probably isn’t right for us.

The relationship that requires you to overlook things you know matter to you.

The opportunity that looks impressive but asks you to sacrifice something you’re no longer willing to give up.

The person whose potential keeps tempting you to ignore their pattern.

The invitation you keep trying to get excited about because everyone else thinks you should be.

The situation you’ve already experienced in enough different forms to recognize where it leads.

You don’t always have to go all the way to the ending to know you don’t want the story.

That can be difficult to trust.

Especially if you’ve spent years believing that saying no means you’re closed-minded, afraid, negative, or unwilling to take risks.

So you override yourself.

You give things chances you never really wanted to give.

You stay curious long after your instincts have given you an answer.

You tell yourself you should at least try.

And sometimes you end up exactly where you suspected you would, wondering why you needed the experience to confirm what you already knew.

Experience is a powerful teacher.

But it isn’t the only teacher.

So is observation.

So is history.

So is self-awareness.

So is everything you learned the last time you ignored yourself.

Growth isn’t only becoming brave enough to take more chances.

Sometimes it’s becoming wise enough to know which chances are worth taking.

That doesn’t mean you’ll always get it right.

There will be opportunities you decline that might have turned into something wonderful.

There will be doors you walk past without ever knowing exactly what was behind them.

That’s part of making choices.

Every yes closes something.

Every no does too.

A meaningful life isn’t built by experiencing every possible version of it.

It’s built by learning which possibilities deserve your time, energy, trust, and attention.

You don’t have to date someone just because there might be something there.

You don’t have to accept an opportunity simply because it’s available.

You don’t have to revisit something you already know doesn’t work for you just to make absolutely certain.

And you don’t have to collect another scar to prove you learned from the last one.

Sometimes wisdom looks less dramatic than taking the leap.

Sometimes it looks like recognizing the edge and deciding you don’t need to jump from it.

This is your reminder:

You don’t have to experience every wrong choice firsthand to trust yourself enough to make a different one.

Slay on.

Black and white image of a woman lying awake in bed, reflecting on the difference between someone’s promises and their repeated behavior.

Slay Say

Patterns Tell the Truth

We tend to give words a lot of power.

Someone tells us they care.

They promise they’ll change.

They say they’ll show up next time.

They explain why this time was different.

They assure us that what happened isn’t really who they are.

And sometimes we want so badly to believe what we’re hearing that we allow the words to carry more weight than everything we’ve actually experienced.

Words matter.

Intentions matter.

Apologies matter.

But none of them exist in a vacuum.

Eventually, they have to meet behavior.

Because anyone can tell you what they value.

The question is whether they live according to those values when it’s inconvenient.

Anyone can promise to be there.

The question is whether they consistently show up.

Anyone can say they respect your boundaries.

The question is what happens when your boundary prevents them from getting what they want.

Anyone can apologize.

The question is whether the behavior that required the apology keeps happening.

This doesn’t mean judging someone by one bad day or one poor decision.

We are all capable of getting it wrong.

We disappoint people.

We react badly.

We say things we wish we could take back.

We make choices that don’t represent who we want to be.

A single mistake can be just that.

A mistake.

But repetition gives us different information.

When the same behavior keeps appearing, the same boundary keeps being crossed, the same promise keeps being broken, or the same apology keeps following the same action, you’re no longer looking at an isolated moment.

You’re looking at a pattern.

And patterns deserve your attention.

Sometimes we ignore them because the explanation sounds reasonable.

They were stressed.

They were scared.

They’ve been through a lot.

They didn’t mean it that way.

They’re working on themselves.

Maybe all of that is true.

Understanding why someone behaves a certain way can give us compassion for them.

It doesn’t require us to pretend their behavior isn’t affecting us.

There is an important difference between understanding someone and trusting them.

Understanding can come from knowing their story.

Trust has to come from experiencing their consistency.

And that takes time.

It’s also worth noticing the good patterns.

The person who quietly keeps their word.

The friend who checks in without being asked.

The partner whose actions make you feel secure without constantly having to reassure you that you should.

The person who respects your no even when they wanted a yes.

The one whose behavior consistently matches what they say matters to them.

Those patterns are information too.

We sometimes spend so much energy analyzing what people mean that we overlook what they repeatedly show us.

You don’t have to become suspicious of everyone.

You don’t have to assume every promise is empty or every mistake is evidence of someone’s character.

You simply have to let time provide information that words alone cannot.

Listen to what people tell you.

Then watch what they do.

When those two things consistently agree, trust has somewhere to grow.

And when they consistently don’t, you don’t have to keep choosing the version of someone described by their words over the version you keep experiencing.

This is your reminder:

Believe change when you can see it in the pattern, not just hear it in the promise.

Slay on.

Black and white image of a woman sitting alone with her head lowered, representing difficult moments, self-compassion, and staying on your own side.

Slay Say

Stay on Your Own Side

It’s easy to be kind to yourself when things are going well.

When you’re making progress.

When you feel confident.

When you’re proud of your choices.

When life seems to be confirming that you’re headed in the right direction.

It gets harder when things fall apart.

When you make the mistake you promised yourself you wouldn’t make again.

When you don’t get the opportunity.

When someone leaves.

When you lose your footing.

When you’re struggling with something you thought you had already moved past.

Those are often the moments when our relationship with ourselves changes.

We stop encouraging and start criticizing.

We question everything we’ve accomplished.

We use one difficult moment as evidence that we haven’t grown at all.

We say things to ourselves we would never say to someone we love.

And just when life has already knocked us down, we decide to join in.

But you need yourself then, too.

Especially then.

Self-love isn’t only believing wonderful things about yourself when you feel strong.

It’s staying on your own side when you’re disappointed in yourself.

It’s being able to say, I made a mistake, without turning it into I am a mistake.

It’s letting yourself have a difficult day without deciding you’ve created a difficult life.

It’s remembering that struggling with something again doesn’t erase all the work you’ve done.

None of this means avoiding accountability.

Sometimes loving yourself means having an uncomfortable conversation with yourself.

It means admitting where you were wrong.

Changing your behavior.

Making amends.

Trying again.

But accountability and abandonment are not the same thing.

You don’t have to punish yourself to prove you understand what happened.

You don’t have to withdraw your own compassion until you’ve earned it back.

And you don’t have to become your harshest critic simply because you’re not proud of where you are right now.

Anyone can stand beside the version of you who has it all together.

The deeper relationship is built with the version who doesn’t.

The one who is scared.

The one who is grieving.

The one who failed.

The one who doesn’t know what happens next.

The one who needs someone to say, We’ll figure this out.

Be that someone.

Because there will be moments in life when you cannot control who stays, what works out, or how quickly things get better.

But you can decide that whatever happens, you will not be another person who leaves you when things get hard.

This is your reminder:

Being there for yourself matters most on the days when you feel least deserving of your own support.

Slay on.