“I don’t believe in myself today,” I confess to you. It’s been a rough week. My body has decided to be a jerk. I’m all out of whack.

I feel like I need one of those diagrams to chart it all out, the ways that I’m falling apart. Or feel at least like I’m about to.

You give me a knowing nod. “Aw honey,” you say. You pull me to you. Tell me you’re sorry I’m struggling.

And as you hold me there next to you, so close that I can hear your heartbeat, I realize that you believe in me today. Even if I don’t.

And that’s almost enough all by itself to get me through the rest of this terrible week.

It’s enough to get me through the night at least. When my brain won’t shut up about how hard this week is, about how hard it feels like next week will be, I get really still. Really quiet. And I remember how it felt when you held me so close I could feel your heartbeat.

And something quiets down within me enough that I’m able to drop off to sleep.

It’s enough to get me through the morning when I’m frustrated at work again. When I feel like I have nothing to say or contribute, I take a moment and breathe. I think about that memory when we were both calm and warm. When time seemed to stop.

Time stops for a moment when I do. And when time starts again, I find I’m able to take the first step of many. To do the prep work that’s required to even think about working.

And when the prep work is done, something kicks in. Habit? Pure instinct? Who knows. But I’m moving forward slowly.

And as I do, I know it’ll be enough to get me through the afternoon. Then the evening.

Little pieces of a week that seems impossible to get through.

So thank you for that. It might not seem like a lot to you, but it’s enough to get me through.