Post 2

I call them Blue Days.

Not sad. Not depressed in a clinical sense, though sometimes it brushes the edge.

Just blue, heavy, grey around the corners.

And when the blue days linger, they stretch.

One becomes two, two becomes three.

I know where I am. Welcome to Blueville. It’s not on any map. There is no sign when you cross the border. But you know when you are there.

You stop seeing your way clearly. Whatever you are dealing with, work, stress, relationships, tension, or just the weight of being alive … it all feels like too much.

You stop taking care of yourself. Small things at first, skipping meals, staying up too late. Letting the laundry pile up. Then the bigger things, cancelling plans, retreating from people. Putting on the mask that says ” I’m fine” when you are really NOT !

And here’s the thing about Blueville

It’s a loop.

Negative thoughts lead to negative behaviors.

Which leads to negative outcomes.

Which feeds back into negative thoughts.

I can’t do this. So, I don’t try. So nothing changes. SEE? I knew I couldn’t do it!

Round and round.

The last time I was in Blueville, I stayed for 12 days.

Twelve days of that loop. Twelve days of feeling underwater while everyone else moved at normal speed.

And the hardest part?

I kept thinking I should be able to spring out of it.

If I just pushed harder, hustled faster, and tried more.

But that’s not how Blueville works.

There’s a difference between a bad day and Blueville.

A bad day passes. Blueville lingers.

And we don’t talk about it.

Because we are adults and we are supposed to have it together. We are supposed to keep up. Match everyone’s pace.

Which brings me to the turtle.

Remember the story, the tortoise and the hare. As kids, we loved the lesson. As adults, we dismissed it. We thought it was cute and nice for a bedtime story. Not relevant when bills are due and deadlines to meet.

But we misunderstood it.

The turtle didn’t win because he was slow.

He won because he didn’t abandon his pace.

The hare lost because he sprinted, stopped, compared, second-guessed, and burned out.

The turtle kept moving.

Not fast. Not flashy. Just steady.

When I was in Blueville, I wanted to be the hare. I wanted to fix it all at once. Prove I was still capable. Outrun the heaviness.

But my kids taught me something different. They taught me to breathe, not as a wellness trend but as a tool.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Just air.

They taught me to give myself grace, not because I deserved applause for struggling, but because the alternative was breaking.

They taught me that trying to do everything all at once meant nothing actually got done.

So, I stopped trying to control the sky.

I started tending to the runway.

One thing at a time. One plane at a time.

Some days that meant getting out of bed. Some days that meant sitting in the sun. Some days it meant texting a friend back. Some days it meant taking a hot shower and letting the pressure release.

I have walked this loop before, a month ago, six months ago, a year ago. Blueville isn’t new.

But I am.

Each time I arrive, I have a different tool kit. More awareness, more proof that I have survived this before.

The loop doesn’t change, but I do.

Blueville isn’t failure.

It’s a place you are sometimes, and the goal is not to never go there. The goal isn’t to sprint out the second you arrive.

The goal is to walk through without abandoning your pace.

To know that lingering doesn’t mean you are broken.

That taking real time, not self-care Sunday time, isn’t weakness.

It’s steady.

And steady as it turns out is what gets you out.

Not speed. Not hustle. Not pretending you are fine when you are not.

Just one step.

And another.

At your own pace.

The turtle knew.

Maybe it’s time we remember.

🌻Serenity