Instructions for Surviving a Bad

Step One: Call it what it is.

This is a bad year. Not a lesson. Not a blessing in disguise. Not a plot twist you’ll laugh about later. It is heavy and unfair and exhausting. Naming it does not make you weak—it makes you honest. Bad years thrive on denial.

Step Two: Stop trying to impress anyone.

You are not here to prove resilience. You are here to stay alive. If you wake up late, cancel plans, or move slower than usual, let that be enough. This year is not asking for your best. It’s asking for your presence.

Step Three: Take care of the body first.

Drink water even when you forget why it matters. Eat something warm. Sit in the shower longer than necessary. Your body is not the enemy—it’s the reason you’re still here. Treat it gently. It’s been carrying more than anyone knows.

Step Four: Expect silence from places you once felt safe.

Some people disappear when you stop performing happiness. Do not chase them. Do not beg for clarity. Anyone who only loves you when you’re easy was never meant to hold you when you’re heavy.

Step Five: Let yourself break in small, private ways.

You will cry over ordinary things—a song, an empty room, a missed call. Let it happen. These moments are not setbacks; they are releases. Your heart is unloading what your mouth never learned how to say.

Step Six: Grieve the version of yourself you lost.

The you who had plans. The you who believed effort guaranteed safety. The you who trusted timing. That version mattered. Sit with the loss. Grief doesn’t mean you failed—it means you cared deeply.

Step Seven: Reduce your world.

You do not need to fix everything at once. Focus on today. This hour. This breath. Bad years become unbearable when you try to survive the entire future at the same time.

Step Eight: Find one thing that asks nothing of you.

A window. A plant. A cup of tea. A quiet walk at night. This thing doesn’t need you to heal or explain yourself. It just needs you to exist beside it. Return to it often.

Step Nine: Forgive yourself for how you coped.

Maybe you withdrew. Maybe you stayed too long. Maybe you shut down. You did what you could with the strength you had. Survival is rarely graceful. Forgiveness is part of recovery.

Step Ten: Accept that healing will be uneven.

Some days you will feel almost normal. Other days will feel just as heavy as the beginning. This does not mean you’re going backward. Healing does not move in straight lines—it moves in waves.

Step Eleven: Do not rush the ending.

Bad years do not announce their departure. They loosen slowly. Quietly. One ordinary morning, you will realize the weight is lighter. Not gone—but lighter. That is still progress.

Final Instruction:

Keep going even without hope. Hope is not required to survive. Action comes first. Breathing comes first. Standing up again comes first. Hope will meet you later, when you’re ready.

Surviving a bad year will change you.

It will make you softer in places you once armored.

Stronger in places you once ignored.

You lived through something difficult.

And that is not nothing.