Emotional self-care crashed my party in my cramped Philly rowhome last Thursday. AC hums off-key. Tissue box surrenders. Phone heart-cracked. Thumb hovers delete. I hiccup-laugh. This practice? It pulled me from voicemail spirals. Ghosted feelings. That Wawa hoagie eaten over sink at 2 AM. I’m a cheesesteak chaos queen. I parallel park like war. Cry at commercials. Lose socks daily. Here’s my plum-bruised, party-tear truth, typos welcome.
The Tissue White Flag (Emotional Self-Care, Mid-Breakdown Surrender)
Tissue dangled defeat. Grabbed it. Blew snot symphony. Emotional self-care via booger fanfare? Gross magic. Wiped face. Felt lighter…ish.
Why Emotional Self-Care Loves Snot
Pretty lies. Snot honest. Tip: Keep tissues everywhere—car, bra, freezer.
The Ink-Smudge Cry Journal
“Feel dumb.” Ink tear-blurred. Kept writing. Emotional self-care in smudges? Cathartic blur.
- Chewed pen cap.
- Page stuck finger.
- Read later. Laughed.
The Couch Fort Fairy Lights (Emotional Self-Care, Blanket Bunker Edition)
Fort built 10 PM. Lights tangled. Hid. self-care in glow worms? Cozy cave. Mindful crying benefits.
Brain skip — practice 4?
Ramblin’ on.
Fort to Mirror Emotional Self-Care
- Ugly-cry mirror.
- Peace sign anyway.
- “Still here.” Whispered fog. self-care, steam grin.
The Voicemail Hover Delete
Mom’s voice crack. Listened thrice. Deleted. Emotional self-care thumb freeze.
Hoagie Sink to AC Hum
Ate standing. Crumbs shirt. AC hummed lullaby?
2 AM Wawa Run Self-Care
PJs Wawa. Bought Tastykake…and tissues. Self-care butterscotch.
Wrap blur — Self-care, peace out
Tissue flags. Ink tears. Fort lights. Self-care unstucks my hoagie chaos. I still ghost. Cry commercials. Lose socks. These practices? Grab one messy. Do half. Spill tissue tale below. I read chugging cold coffee, probably snotty. Feel weird, y’all, or bottle.
Accidental Finger Sunset: Imperfect Beauty Captured
