Tag: mental-health

Feel the Hurt and Keep Moving

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We all have those wounds.

You know the ones. The hurts that have never quite healed.

Maybe because the work of healing is hard. (It is.)

Maybe because we thought we’d moved past them.

Maybe because we’ve learned to function around them.

There are all sorts of maybes, but that’s a post for another day.

The problem is those old wounds don’t stay buried forever.

Sometimes something happens, and suddenly they’re wide open again. Once they are open, all the doubt, fear, insecurities, and old messages come flooding back.

You aren’t good enough.

Who do you think you are?

I thought you could, but I guess you can’t.

You’re too much.

You know the voices.

I had one of those moments this week.

Something happened that had nothing to do with my writing, but my brain didn’t seem to care. Within minutes, it had connected every hurt I’d ever carried into one painful conclusion.

“Hey, Kaydawn… did you forget? You’re a loser.”

It’s amazing how quickly a dysregulated nervous system can turn one painful moment into a life sentence.

My thoughts went everywhere.

Why would anyone want to read something you’ve written?

You’re not an expert.

Your friends are only reading your blog because they’re being nice.

You’ll never write a book.

So I decided I wasn’t going to write anymore.

What’s the point?

I took a couple of days to breathe before answering that question.

Then I realized I had been asking the wrong one.

The point isn’t to prove that I’m talented enough.

The point isn’t to become an expert.

The point isn’t to write a perfect blog.

The point is connection.

When I started But First, a Nap, I thought I’d mostly write about ADHD, procrastination, and the many creative ways I avoid doing the dishes.

Somewhere along the way, it became something bigger.

I still hope people read it. I’d love to build a following someday.

But more than that, I want to build a community.

A place for people who are trying their best, most of the time.

People whose feelings get hurt.

People who make mistakes.

People who say the wrong thing.

People who sometimes believe the worst about themselves.

Not toxic positivity.

Not endless misery.

Just a reminder that we’re not doing this alone.

And maybe that’s what communities are for.

Not because they take our hurt away.

Because they remind us we don’t have to carry it alone.

Maybe that is another lesson I’m learning.

Not every day has to be productive.

Not every day has to be meaningful.

Not every day has to be joyful.

Not every day has to be devastating.

Sometimes Tuesday hurts.

Sometimes Thursday is great.

And sometimes Wednesday just… is.

Maybe that’s what life really looks like.

Some days are great.

Some days hurt.

Some days just are.

The hurt doesn’t get the final word.

Feel the hurt.

Keep moving.

If this post made your heart feel a little lighter, would you share it with someone who might need it today? Sometimes hope finds us through a friend. đź’™

Asking for a Friend

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Is it judgy to judge someone who is judgy?

Asking for a friend.

(It’s me. I’m the friend.)

A few years ago, while working at a residential rehab, I accompanied a client to the emergency room. After the initial flurry of nurses, questions, and paperwork, there wasn’t much left to do except wait.

So we talked.

We talked about recovery, stigma, and how exhausting it can be when people see “addict” before they see “person.”

Maybe that’s one reason I’ve always had a soft spot for people who feel pushed to the edges.

Working in rehab confirmed something I’d suspected all along: people can make heartbreaking choices and still be worthy of understanding and love.

We talked about people who judged those struggling with addiction.

Then we talked about other kinds of judgmental people.

But not us.

Somewhere in the middle of that conversation, a thought quietly crossed my mind.

Am I being judgmental?

Sadly…

Yes.

Over the years, I realized something that changed the way I see people.

So often, judgment isn’t rooted in hatred.

It’s rooted in fear.

I’ve come to believe that people often fear what they don’t understand. Sometimes they’re protecting deeply held beliefs. Sometimes they’re protecting themselves. And sometimes they’ve simply never had the opportunity to know someone whose story is different from their own.

Seeing that people were often scared—not just unkind—didn’t make their judgment okay.

But it did make them easier to understand.

Does understanding why people judge make it okay?

Not really.

But it does remind me that “people” includes me.

I still catch myself making assumptions.

I still have moments when I see a label before I see a person.

Maybe that’s why grace matters so much.

We all need someone willing to look past the label long enough to see the human being underneath.

Including the person in the mirror.

If this post encouraged you, made you smile, or reminded you that you’re not alone, would you share it with someone who might need it today? Sometimes hope has a way of finding us through a friend. đź’™

Working on (Im)Perfection

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So, I decided my sewing machine needed to be cleaned.

Instead of spending money to take it to a shop, I figured I could watch a couple of YouTube videos and do it myself.

It actually started out great.

I took everything apart, cleaned it, and confidently began putting it back together. Then I got to the needle plate.

According to YouTube, it “just snaps back into place.”

Apparently, my sewing machine didn’t get that memo.

I pushed.

I wiggled.

I tried again.

Nothing.

That’s when those familiar perfectionist thoughts started whispering…and then yelling.

“Why did you think you could do this? You’re not even that great at sewing. You’re going to fail anyway.”

It’s amazing how quickly a stubborn piece of metal can turn into a referendum on your worth.

But this time, something felt different.

A quieter voice spoke up.

“Maybe you can.”

True, you’re not an expert at sewing.

But you can practice.

You can learn.

You can figure things out.

That subtle shift changed everything.

I’ve been thinking about the word perfectionism lately. The suffix -ism refers to a way of believing, thinking, or operating. And I realized something.

Perfectionism is exhausting. It’s also strangely counterproductive. The harder we chase perfection, the more afraid we become of making mistakes. Eventually, we stop trying new things altogether because failing feels too risky.

So what if, instead of practicing perfectionism, we practiced (im)perfection?

A different way of believing.

A different way of thinking.

A different way of operating.

One that embraces the messy parts of learning instead of fighting them.

One that expects mistakes because that’s where growth lives.

One that understands frustration and joy often travel together.

Perfection demands certainty.

(Im)perfection invites curiosity.

Here’s my working definition:

(Im)perfection: The belief that life gets a whole lot more interesting when you stop trying to avoid every mistake and start collecting them as evidence that you’re actually living.

Designer Marc Jacobs once said, “I always find beauty in things that are odd and imperfect—they are much more interesting.”

Maybe people are, too.

Maybe lives are, too.

I eventually got the needle plate back on.

Not because I suddenly became an expert.

But because I stayed with it a little longer than the perfectionist in me wanted to.

Maybe that’s what (im)perfection looks like.

Not flawless.

Not effortless.

Just one more try.

One more deep breath.

One more “Maybe I can.”

If this post gave you a little hope, a smile, or simply reminded you that you’re not alone, would you share it with someone who might need it today? đź’™

Honoring the Gift

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Recently, someone I know received a heart transplant.

A real, honest-to-goodness miracle.

The heart was a perfect match. Surgery went well. Recovery went well. In fact, things went so well that they were released from the hospital earlier than expected.

Then they ended up back in the hospital.

From what I understand, they were feeling so good that they weren’t following all the precautions the doctors had recommended.

I’ll admit, I spent a few days serving as the self-appointed Chairperson of the Committee for Other People’s Life Choices.

Then I realized something uncomfortable.

The questions I was asking about someone else’s heart were questions I had never seriously asked about my own.

Because I, too, have been given a heart.

Not a transplanted one. The original equipment model.

It has faithfully shown up every day for nearly six decades without asking much in return.

And unlike the transplant recipient, I didn’t even have to wait for mine.

It was given to me freely.

By the greatest Giver of all.

That realization led to some uncomfortable questions.

Do I take care of my body the way I should?

Do I exercise enough?

Do I eat the way I know I should?

The answer to most of those questions depends on the day you ask me and whether Dr Pepper Zero Sugar counts as a food group.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized the question was bigger than physical health.

What does it mean to honor the gift of being alive?

Not just to keep my body alive.

To keep my soul alive.

To keep curiosity alive.

To keep hope alive.

To keep kindness alive.

To keep laughter alive.

To keep writing alive, even when nobody is waiting for the next blog post.

To keep learning new things at an age when I occasionally wonder if I should have everything figured out by now.

To keep loving people despite disappointment.

To keep showing up.

There is a difference between merely staying alive and truly living.

I’m not talking about skydiving or climbing Mount Everest. Frankly, both sound exhausting.

I’m talking about being awake to the life we’ve been given.

Because if I’m honest, I spend a lot of time thinking about all the things I should be doing better.

I should eat better.

I should exercise more.

I should be more disciplined.

I should be further along.

I should have figured this out years ago.

The problem with “should” is that it usually brings shame along as a traveling companion.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if there is a better question.

Not:

Why aren’t you doing better?

But:

How can you honor the gift today?

Some days, honoring the gift might look like taking a walk.

Some days it might look like calling a friend.

Some days it might look like setting a boundary.

Some days it might look like resting.

Some days it might look like starting something that scares you.

Some days it might simply mean getting back up after making a mess of the day before.

I’ve discovered that not every imperfection is evidence of failure.

Sometimes it’s simply another place where I can be intentional.

Another opportunity to grow.

Another reminder that I am still becoming.

Because honoring the gift of being alive isn’t about doing everything right.

It’s choosing to live with purpose and intention, even on the days we feel messy, imperfect, unseen, or painfully aware of our mistakes.

The beautiful thing about a heart is that it doesn’t quit because yesterday was imperfect.

Every morning, it is still beating.

Maybe that’s the invitation for the rest of us, too.

The Dumb Kids Use Computers

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When I was in grade school, I was the reading kid.

You know the type.

Top reading group.
A-plus student.
The one teacher asked to help other students.
The one who felt pretty confident… at least when words were involved.

Math?

That was a different story entirely.

I struggled.
I got tutored.
And in sixth grade, back in 1975, my school introduced something new for kids who needed extra help in math:

Computer class.

Now, to be clear, this was not the exciting, cutting-edge, “the future is here” kind of computer class.

This was the “you need help, so go work on math problems on the computer” kind of class.

At least, that’s how I understood it.

One day, my teacher reminded me, “Kaydawn, don’t forget to go to your computer class.”

And then one of the boys in my class said:

“Only dumb kids go to computers.”

Kids can be cruel.
Kids can be careless.
And sometimes, kids say things that lodge themselves into places we don’t even realize are vulnerable.

At the time, I don’t know that I consciously believed him.

But somewhere along the way, I think part of me did.

Because here’s what I’ve come to realize:

That moment may have shaped more than how I felt about math.

It may have quietly influenced how I felt about technology, learning new things, and even my own intelligence.

Logically, I know how ridiculous that sounds now.

Computers are everywhere.
In our homes.
In our cars.
In our pockets.

We use them for work, connection, creativity, problem-solving, and yes… blogging.

No one hears “she uses a computer” and assumes incompetence.

And yet, old beliefs don’t always disappear just because they no longer make sense.

Sometimes they just get quieter.
They hide underneath frustration.
Avoidance.
Self-doubt.
That subtle voice that says, “This is probably not for you.”

Looking back, I wonder if part of me hasn’t resisted technology because I’m bad at it…

…but because some small, younger part of me learned to associate it with feeling dumb.

And maybe avoiding it felt safer than risking that feeling again.

Funny how protection can sometimes look a lot like procrastination.

Or stubbornness.
Or “I’m just not good at this.”

The truth is, we all carry stories.

Things people said.
Moments we misunderstood.
Labels we accidentally accepted.

And sometimes, without even realizing it, we keep living as though those stories are still true.

This blog, in many ways, is me challenging one of mine.

Not because I have something to prove to anyone else…

…but because maybe I still have something to prove to myself.

That I am capable of learning.
Capable of changing.
Capable of questioning beliefs that never deserved permanent residence in my mind.

I can’t be the only one carrying around an outdated story.

Maybe yours isn’t about computers.

Maybe it’s about your body.
Your worth.
Your voice.
Your intelligence.
Your lovability.

Whatever it is, maybe it’s worth asking:

Who told me that?

And more importantly…

Do I still believe them?

Because maybe the problem was never that we were incapable.

Maybe we were just still listening to someone who didn’t know what they were talking about.

Turns out, I was never dumb.

I was just still listening to a sixth grader.

I have a feeling I’m not the only one.

What outdated story are you still carrying around… and who told you it was true?

Grace, Growth, and the Small Wins We Forget to Celebrate

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There’s something I’m realizing lately:

I am often far better at giving grace to other people than I am to myself.

If a friend is overwhelmed?
I get it.

If someone I care about drops the ball?
I understand.

If life hits hard and they’re doing the best they can?
Compassion. Every time.

But me?

Oh no. Apparently, I should have it all figured out, stay motivated, never procrastinate, heal perfectly, show up consistently, and possibly also become a morning person.

(We all know that last one is unlikely.)

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to treat our own humanity like failure.

We minimized our progress because it wasn’t big enough.
We dismissed our effort because it wasn’t perfect.
We overlook growth because we’re too focused on how far we still have to go.

And honestly? That’s exhausting.

I’m starting to think grace is about making room.

Room to be a work in progress.
Room to celebrate small wins.
Room to acknowledge that maybe getting out of an old pattern is worth noticing, even if it’s not dramatic.

Maybe grace is recognizing that healing, growth, discipline, and change are usually built in tiny, unremarkable moments that don’t always look impressive from the outside.

And maybe… maybe we deserve to celebrate those moments more.

Not in a “everyone gets a trophy” kind of way.

But in a “hey, I handled that better than I used to” kind of way.

I’ve been quietly sitting with the idea that we may need to get better at documenting our wins—not just the giant, obvious milestones, but the subtle victories too.

The days we paused instead of spiraling.
The moments we chose kindness over criticism.
The times we kept going.

Maybe those count more than we think.

And maybe giving grace—to ourselves and others—isn’t weakness.

Maybe it’s how we keep growing.

So here’s your reminder (and honestly, mine too):

Celebrate the good.
In yourself.
In others.
In the tiny things.

Because life is hard enough without constantly moving the finish line.

And sometimes…

The victory is simply noticing you’re doing better than you were before.

Practice Doesn’t Care If You Feel Like It

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I say this to my clients all the time:

“Any change takes practice.”

We usually laugh about it, because now some of them beat me to it. Before I can even say the word “practice,” they’re already smiling like, I know, I know… practice.

It’s a good reminder.

Turns out, I don’t just teach this… I have to live it

This week, I didn’t feel inspired to write.

Not even a little.

No big ideas. No meaningful insights. Nothing felt worth putting into words. And if I’m being honest, it didn’t take much for my brain to start offering me reasons to skip it altogether.

And honestly? That’s kind of my pattern.

If it’s hard, or inconvenient, or not coming easily, there’s a part of me that starts looking for the exit.

“Maybe skip this week.”
“No one will notice.”
“You can do better next week.”

All very reasonable. All very convincing.

But here’s the problem.

Practice doesn’t care if I feel like it.

It doesn’t care if I’m tired, or uninspired, or mildly annoyed that I have nothing profound to say. It doesn’t wait for motivation to show up and get me going.

It just quietly asks the same thing every time:

Are you going to show up or not?

I think sometimes we believe that if something matters, we’ll feel driven to do it.

But in my experience, the things that matter the most are usually the ones that require the most practice… and the least amount of feeling like it.

Consistency isn’t glamorous.

It’s sitting down when you don’t want to.
It’s writing something that isn’t your best.
It’s doing it anyway.

So here I am.

Not inspired. Not particularly eloquent. Definitely not perfect.

But I showed up.

And right now, that feels like enough.

Perfect? No.
Acceptable? Yeah.
Still here? Also, yes.

Why Not Ourselves?

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I had a thought this week… follow me for a minute.

I was talking with a client about forgiveness. They were working through some pretty deep betrayal, and we were discussing how, if we choose to move forward and forgive, we eventually have to find ways to let go of anger and resentment.

Not all at once. Not perfectly. But over time.

We talked about how it takes practice. Repetition. Even a little bit of that “rewiring your brain” stuff.

And then I kept thinking about it after the session.

Because here’s the question that stuck with me:

Why are we so willing to practice forgiving others…
But so resistant to forgiving ourselves?

We talk about how holding on to resentment in relationships creates distance, tension, and disconnection.

But we don’t always talk about what happens when that resentment is turned inward.

When we hold grudges against ourselves.
When we replay mistakes.
When we refuse to give ourselves grace.
When we “beat ourselves up” and call it accountability.

That creates conflict, too.

Just… inside.

And I don’t think self-forgiveness is all that different from forgiving someone else.

It takes time.
It takes intention.
It takes practice.

It probably feels uncomfortable and unnatural at first.

And maybe—just like with others—we don’t have to jump straight to full forgiveness.

Maybe we start with:
“I don’t have to punish myself forever for this.”

I’m a therapist by profession, so I get to have these kinds of conversations often. And honestly, they don’t just help my clients—they help me. They give me a chance to slow down and really think about how I’m showing up in my own life, too.

This isn’t meant to be a therapy blog or a list of steps to fix anything. It’s just me, sharing what I’m learning and noticing along the way, in real time.

Because if I believe in showing up for myself (which I talk about a lot here), that probably includes learning to let go of my own resentment, too.

Still working on that one.

But I think it’s worth practicing.

And maybe that counts as a win.