“It gets better.”
We hear that all the time, but most of the time it’s offered as a period at the end of a conversation that never really began. No context. No guidance. No explanation on how it gets better or what to actually do when you can barely stay present in your own skin.
So today I want to offer something different: something real.
I’m not a mental health professional, and I can’t promise these methods will help everyone. But these are the things that helped me find my way back into my own body after long periods of dissociation, anxiety, depression, and emotional exhaustion. If my lived experience can give even one person a little direction or sense of possibility, then it’s worth sharing.
The Core of My Healing: Staying Connected to My Body
My biggest struggle has always been disconnecting from myself. When things get hard, my brain slips into autopilot. I go quiet. I go numb. I drift somewhere far away without even meaning to.
Healing, for me, required learning how to stay in my body—even when it was uncomfortable.
And that takes intention.
Sometimes it takes everything I have.
Especially on the days when depression is heavy, or the anxiety starts to close around my chest, or I feel myself slipping into old patterns.
Journaling as a Check-In
One of the easiest ways I stay connected is through simple, regular check-ins. Nothing dramatic—just asking myself:
- What am I feeling right now?
- Where is that feeling sitting in my body?
- What thoughts keep circling around?
- Do I need support? Or rest? Or movement?
On my better days, a quick mood rating and a few notes are enough.
On harder days, I use a structured method I created called Journaling With Purpose—a more guided check-in that forces me to look inward instead of avoiding the things I don’t want to feel.
The goal is never to “fix” everything in one sitting.
It’s simply to show up for myself.
Reducing Friction: Building Coping Into Daily Life
I’ve learned that my coping methods only work if they’re easy to access. No extra steps. No big mental effort.
Some of these tools are woven into my everyday routine so they’re almost automatic:
1. Singing to regulate my breath
Music keeps me grounded.
When I sing—even softly—it forces my breath to stay steady. Having control over my breath keeps my anxiety from spiralling. It gives me a rhythm to return to when everything else feels chaotic.
2. Tapping my chest where my anxiety sits
Over time, I learned exactly where anxiety lands in my body: a tight coil right in the center of my chest. It can feel like pressure, choking, or even pain.
Gently tapping that spot helps disrupt the tension and reminds my body that I’m safe.
3. Intentional showers
Warm water is grounding.
In the shower, I trace the path of the water with my mind. I describe the sensations, pray over the water, or imagine it cleansing away what feels heavy.
Mindfulness When My Thoughts Get Loud
Mindfulness, at its core, is just paying attention to your senses in the moment. It doesn’t erase the “big bad feelings,” but it helps me notice them without being overwhelmed by them.
Even if a wave of sadness or panic rolls through, I don’t have to chase it. I can let it pass behind me while I stay rooted in the world I’m physically in: the warmth of a cup, the sound of music, the texture of fabric, the feel of my lungs expanding.
This took practice.
A lot of practice.
But it became one of the most reliable tools I have. Mindfulness is the core of how you’ll stay grounded and be able to move through almost all of your other coping mechanisms. It doesn’t have to be complicated; sometimes it’s just paying attention to temperature, texture, and breath.
Self-Compassion Scripts
There were times when I needed comfort and didn’t have anyone available to offer it. It wasn’t until I was in the hospital that I learned that our brains are capable of receiving the same comfort if we speak to ourselves like the friend we need at that time.
So I taught myself to say the things I needed to hear:
- I am strong.
- I can handle this.
- I am safe.
- This feeling is allowed to be here.
- I can be sad and safe at the same time.
Repeating these isn’t about pretending everything is fine.
It’s about reminding myself that emotions are not threats.
When I’m emerging from a depressive episode, self-compassion is my starting line:
“You needed rest. It’s okay. Take it slow. Brush your teeth. Change into clean clothes. One step at a time.”
Small Rituals That Help Me Feel Like Myself
Sometimes, doing something that makes me feel a little stronger or more “me” can pull me back from the edges.
- Painting my nails
- Doing my makeup
- Putting on clothes that make me feel confident or cute
- Making a slow, intentional cup of tea
The tea ritual especially grounds me. I learned to do this when I was struggling with leaving behind addiction, and it became my practice ground for mindfulness once I was taught how to add that to my process.
Boil the water.
Choose the tea bag.
Froth the milk.
Pour.
Stir.
Hold the cup, feel the warmth, and breathe with the rising steam.
Even if my heart aches through the entire process, the ritual anchors me in the now.
Breath Awareness (Before Techniques)
I had to learn how to connect to my breath before I could actually use any of the breathing methods or meditations we’re taught.
Where do I feel my breath?
Chest?
Throat?
Belly?
It’s different for everyone.
For me, I feel it most in the back of my throat.
Finding that spot gave me something to focus on. And once I could do that, I could finally lean into more structured breathing methods without panicking or dissociating.
A Final Note
I’m sharing these tools because I wish someone had shared them with me sooner.
I didn’t learn most of this until I was in the hospital, slowly piecing together a relationship with my own mind and body again. And I genuinely believe that understanding yourself, your patterns, your sensations, your spirals, your needs, is one of the most loving things you can do.
These practices don’t replace professional support.
But they can help you begin to reconnect with yourself in ways that feel gentle and doable.
It can get better.
Not magically, not instantly, but with intention and compassion and a willingness to fight for yourself in small, consistent ways.
You deserve that.
And you’re not alone.
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