This passage from The Book of Life is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read on anxiety. I urge you to read the entire piece: it’s really quite short and wildly encouraging.
It ends with these two sentences, which explain so elegantly why just about everyone I know, who is a writer, writes.
We must suffer alone. But we can at least hold out our arms to our similarly tortured, fractured, and above all else, anxious neighbours, as if to say, in the kindest way possible: ‘I know…
I hope you are finding joy in your week, but if the days are a struggle, hang on tight and wait for the rising. Better days are ahead.