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A few words of comfort on very hard days.

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A few words of comfort on very hard days.

A few words of comfort on very hard days. — Annie Wright trauma therapy

A few words of comfort on very hard days.

LAST UPDATED: APRIL 2026

RESEARCH EVIDENCE

Peer-reviewed findings that inform this clinical framework:

  • Self-affirmation effects on behavior d+ = 0.32 (95% CI 0.19-0.44) (PMID: 25133846)
  • Positive psychology interventions subjective well-being SMD 0.34 (95% CI 0.22-0.45) (PMID: 23390882)
  • Positive psychology interventions depression SMD 0.23 (95% CI 0.09-0.38) (PMID: 23390882)
  • PPIs in clinical samples well-being Hedges' g = 0.24 (95% CI 0.13-0.35) (PMID: 29945603)
  • Self-affirmation alters brain response leading to behavior change γ_time × condition = −0.002 (P=0.008) (PMID: 25646442)

What do you do when there’s nothing actionable you can do right now?

And I imagine that feels so scary and powerless. I get it. I’ve been there, too.

We don’t have a crystal ball. We don’t know how things will turn out.

And I think that the state that most of us struggle with the most is not-knowing.

So you don’t know right now. And it sucks.

I can’t tell you things will get better.

But I will ask you to remind and comfort yourself (and me!) of other times in your life when you felt hopeless.

When you were faced with the unknown and how you coped.

When the last really hard, seemingly impossible thing happened in your life, how did that turn out?

Who helped you cope? What resources did you use?

And, possibly maybe, did things ultimately turn out better than you ever could have expected (even though you didn’t see that at the time)?

Could it be that the same thing might happen this time?

Can you allow yourself – even a small part of you – to consider that someday this will make sense and you will find yourself in a situation that’s ten-fold better than what you were in and that seems to be dissolving in front of you now?

How do you find faith when things feel hopeless?

To invite the chance that this or something better may be coming your way.

And at the risk of sounding too Pollyanna-ish, I want us to hold both things: something better could be coming your way and right now sucks.

Both things are true.

You’re so strong.

You’re so capable.

You’ve been able to figure out so much in your life so far with far fewer resources than you have now.

You’re a resilient, gritty kind of person.

And that counts for so much.

Could the you of five, ten or fifteen years ago have imagined all the ways you’ve grown and all the added stress and responsibility that you’ve taken on and managed to navigate?

Can you imagine, too, what future you five, ten years down the road might think of you handling this situation?

If you can’t imagine what future you might have to say about the situation, what do some of your loved ones have to say about you and your capabilities to weather hard times?

Can you let their words of affirmation and comfort bolster you as you make your way through these rocky days?

What if no one can fix what you’re going through?

“You didn’t sign up to feel this. You didn’t sign up to hold this much. And yet here you are — still putting one foot in front of the other, still reaching toward something better. That matters more than you know.”

— Annie Wright, LMFT

I wish I could take out my magic wand and solve it or, at the least, peer into that crystal ball and reassure you that everything will be fine.

But I can’t. No one can, really.

You just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other through these hard days, through these tough times, through this tender chapter of your life.

It may feel impossible and you may want to give up and just scream and sob and quit.

But you won’t.

Instead, you’ll do what needs to be done – start dinner, refill the toilet paper roll, return that work email, take out the recycling.

You will do all of this and you’ll feel like you’re on autopilot (that’s okay, please let that be okay!).

And you might feel like your chest is burning from the anxiety and your stomach upset by the worry.

Falling asleep and being at peace in bed at night may feel hard right now.

Don’t set the bar too high.

In times like these, it’s not realistic to think everything – including and especially your body and mind – will be okay.

How do you give yourself permission for things to not be okay right now?

You may feel like you’re on autopilot and that the challenge of this situation has lodged itself like an angry storm in your body and mind, but it won’t always be this way.

One day you’ll wake up feeling more like yourself.

More hopeful. Less scared. More assured. Less shaky.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other until that day comes.

You know how to do this. You’ve done it before.

Honey, at the risk of dismissing your experience I want to say something: this is IT. This is the hardness of being a human, of being an adult.

It’s actually really, really hard sometimes.

Anyone who tells you otherwise probably isn’t being honest about their own experience.

Being human, being an adult with responsibilities, with relationships, obligations, debts, needs, and bodies that require special care can feel so crummily hard some days.

You’re in it right now. You’re getting the hard part of the human experience.

Will it always feel this painful?

But while it is, please try and be as kind to yourself as you can.

Maybe kindness looks like being actionable.

Maybe kindness looks like slowing down.

Maybe kindness looks like reaching out for support.

Maybe kindness looks like doing this on your own, keeping your tender vulnerability close to your heart.

However kindness looks for you right now, be that to yourself.

There’s no one right way to handle very hard days. Whatever works for you is the way.

If you don’t know what works for you, still yourself for a moment and tune in. See what your body/mind/soul has to say.

If the only thing that pops up is having a bowl of popcorn for dinner, that’s wonderful.

If it looks like reaching out to your therapist, great.

If it looks like going on an angry sprint run, so be it.

What can you do to comfort yourself when you’re in acute pain?

The people who love you (and yes, there are people who love you) care about you. You matter to people.

Take care of yourself. Take comfort in whatever you can.

Recall all the times you’ve overcome, when you’ve managed situations that feel unmanageable.

Reflect on those moments in your life when things turned out better than you ever could have imagined and never could have anticipated that at the time.

Maybe, and I know this is a bit out there, think of the long line of ancestors you come from who likely overcame and navigated so, so much just so you could be here.

You come from a line of survivors. You will survive this, too.

For now, go take care of yourself. However that looks.

Please know that I’m here, rooting for you, wanting only good things for you, trusting that all will be well for you.

I see you.

How can trauma-informed support help you find your way through a crisis?

When you arrive at therapy after life has delivered an unexpected blow—a diagnosis, a betrayal, a loss that’s left you alternating between frantic action and complete paralysis—your therapist understands that crisis requires both doing and feeling, that 101 self-care suggestions when it all feels like too much might help but won’t fix the fundamental shattering you’re experiencing.

They sit with you in the not-knowing, validating how terrifying it feels when nothing in your control can change the situation. Your therapist doesn’t rush to silver-line or problem-solve but acknowledges this fundamental truth: sometimes life genuinely sucks, and pretending otherwise invalidates your very real pain.

Together, you create what they call a “crisis protocol”—identifying what’s actually within your control (surprisingly little) versus what feels urgent but isn’t actionable (surprisingly much). They help you recognize when you’re using hyperactivity to avoid feeling or when you’re drowning in emotions without taking necessary practical steps.

Your therapist guides you in remembering previous impossible situations you’ve survived. Not to minimize current pain but to remind your nervous system of its proven resilience. They help you see the throughline of survival in your story—every crisis you’ve weathered is evidence of your capacity to weather this one.

They normalize the autopilot state, explaining that maintaining basic functions while emotionally reeling isn’t failure but appropriate crisis response. Returning work emails while your chest burns with anxiety, making dinner while your mind spins—this is what survival looks like in real time.

Most importantly, your therapist helps you hold paradox: this is unbearably hard AND you will survive it. You don’t know how it will resolve AND you’ve figured out every previous impossibility. The situation might be genuinely terrible AND something unexpected might emerge.

Wrapping up.

Now, I’d love to hear in the comments below:

What are some of the words of comfort you return to on really hard days?
What helps you feel grounded, soothed, or even just a little more steady when life feels overwhelming?

Please leave a message so our community of 25,000 monthly website visitors can benefit from your wisdom.
You never know who might need to hear exactly what you have to share.

Here’s to healing relational trauma and creating thriving lives on solid foundations.

Warmly,
Annie

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RESOURCES & REFERENCES

  1. And, possibly maybe, did things ultimately turn out better than you ever could have expected (even though you didn’t see that at the time)?
  2. Could it be that the same thing might happen this time?
  3. Can you allow yourself – even a small part of you – to consider that someday this will make sense and you will find yourself in a situation that’s ten-fold better than what you were in and that seems to be dissolving in front of you now?

What Your Nervous System Is Doing on Very Hard Days

Here’s something I want you to understand: on the days that feel unbearable, your nervous system is not broken. It’s doing exactly what it was designed to do.

When you’re in acute distress — when the chest is tight and the thoughts are spinning and everything feels impossible — your body has moved outside what Dr. Dan Siegel, clinical professor of psychiatry at the UCLA School of Medicine, calls the window of tolerance. This is the zone in which your nervous system can process experience without becoming overwhelmed or shutting down entirely. Outside that window, you’re either in hyper-arousal (anxiety, panic, racing thoughts, the urge to do something, anything) or hypo-arousal (numbness, dissociation, flatness, the inability to get off the couch). (PMID: 11556645)

Both states are survival responses. Both have roots in your history. And both deserve compassion rather than criticism.

For the driven, ambitious women I work with, hyper-arousal often looks like trying to problem-solve their way out of a feeling — making lists, taking action, reaching for the phone. Hypo-arousal looks like staring at the ceiling at 2 AM and feeling nothing. Sometimes the same day delivers both.

What helps — genuinely, physiologically helps — is titrated co-regulation. Not someone telling you it will be okay, but a regulated presence (human or, in a pinch, the steady rhythm of your own breath, your own hand on your own chest) that signals to your body: the threat has passed. You can come back to yourself now.

Elena, a client I worked with who was navigating a job loss and the end of a long-term relationship in the same month, told me that the most useful thing I ever said to her was: “Your nervous system isn’t making this harder than it is. Your nervous system is just doing the job it learned to do when you were very young and things were actually unsafe.” She wept. Because she’d been calling herself weak for years. She wasn’t weak. She was wired for survival.

DEFINITION
CO-REGULATION

Co-regulation is the process by which one nervous system is calmed, organized, and settled through contact with another nervous system that is already calm and regulated. It’s the neurobiological basis of why human connection matters — not just emotionally but physiologically. Research by Dr. Stephen Porges, PhD, professor emeritus of psychiatry at Indiana University, shows that mammals require co-regulation to restore nervous system homeostasis after threat activation. In plain terms: you are not meant to do the hard days alone. Reaching out is not weakness — it’s biology. (PMID: 7652107)

On hard days, the most healing thing is often the most counterintuitive: slow down rather than speed up. Breathe out longer than you breathe in (this activates the parasympathetic nervous system). Put your feet flat on the floor and feel the ground beneath you. Splash cold water on your face. Text one person who makes you feel safe: “I’m having a rough one.” Not to fix it. Just to break the isolation.

Because isolation is where hard days become unbearable days. And unbearable doesn’t have to be where this ends.

Both/And: Holding the Complexity of Your Experience

In my work with clients, I find that the most important breakthroughs happen not when someone chooses one truth over another, but when they learn to hold two seemingly contradictory truths at the same time.

You can be grateful for what you have and grieve what you didn’t get. You can love someone and acknowledge the harm they caused. You can be strong and still need help. These aren’t contradictions — they’re the texture of a fully lived life.

The driven, ambitious women I work with often struggle with this because they’ve been trained to solve problems, not sit with paradox. But healing isn’t a problem to solve. It’s a process to inhabit. And the both/and is always where the deepest growth lives.

The Systemic Lens: Seeing Beyond the Individual

When we locate suffering exclusively in the individual — “What’s wrong with me?” — we miss the larger forces at work. Culture, family systems, economic structures, and intergenerational patterns all shape the terrain on which your personal struggle plays out.

This matters because the driven women I work with almost universally blame themselves for pain that was never theirs alone to carry. The anxiety, the perfectionism, the chronic self-doubt — these aren’t character flaws. They’re adaptive responses to systems that asked too much of you while offering too little safety, attunement, and genuine support.

Healing begins when you stop asking “What’s wrong with me?” and start asking “What happened to me — and what systems made it possible?”

If what you’ve read here resonates, I want you to know that individual therapy and executive coaching are available for driven women ready to do this work. You can also explore my self-paced recovery courses or schedule a complimentary consultation to find the right fit.

On the hardest days I’m failing at work, failing at home, failing at taking care of myself. And then I feel guilty for struggling. Can I just not have a hard day?

It’s common for driven, ambitious women to feel immense pressure to maintain control and perfection. When life inevitably throws challenges, it can trigger feelings of guilt and inadequacy, especially if you’re used to being the one who always has it together. Remember, it’s okay to not be okay, and allowing yourself to feel overwhelmed is a natural human response.

I am not a person who gives up. And lately I keep thinking about just… stopping. Not hurting myself. Just stopping. Is that weakness or is that human?

Absolutely not. Feeling like giving up when you’re typically strong is often a sign that you’ve been carrying a heavy load for too long. It takes immense strength to acknowledge your limits and vulnerability. This feeling is an invitation to pause, rest, and seek the comfort and support you deserve.

How can I allow myself to feel my difficult emotions without getting completely consumed by them?

Allowing yourself to feel emotions without being consumed is a delicate balance. Start by creating a safe space for your feelings, acknowledging them without judgment, and reminding yourself that emotions are temporary. Practicing mindfulness or gentle self-compassion can help you observe your feelings rather than being swept away by them.

What does it mean if I find myself using constant action and productivity to avoid dealing with my feelings?

Using action and productivity to avoid feelings is a common coping mechanism, especially for driven. It often stems from a deep-seated belief that your worth is tied to your output or that difficult emotions are a sign of weakness. While productivity can be valuable, it’s crucial to also make space for your inner world and process emotions to prevent burnout and foster genuine healing.

I struggle to ask for help or comfort, even when I desperately need it. How can I overcome this?

Many driven, ambitious women find it challenging to ask for help, often due to a fear of burdening others or appearing less capable. Understand that seeking support is a sign of self-awareness and strength, not weakness. Start by identifying one trusted person and practicing expressing a small need, gradually building your capacity to receive comfort and assistance.

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Annie Wright, LMFT

About the Author

Annie Wright, LMFT

LMFT #95719  ·  Relational Trauma Specialist  ·  W.W. Norton Author

Helping ambitious women finally feel as good as their résumé looks.

As a licensed psychotherapist (LMFT #95719), trauma-informed executive coach, and relational trauma specialist with over 15,000 clinical hours, she guides ambitious women — including Silicon Valley leaders, physicians, and entrepreneurs — in repairing the psychological foundations beneath their impressive lives. Annie is the founder and former CEO of Evergreen Counseling, a multimillion-dollar trauma-informed therapy center she built, scaled, and successfully exited. A regular contributor to Psychology Today, her expert commentary has appeared in Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information. She is currently writing her first book with W.W. Norton.

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Medical Disclaimer

Medical Disclaimer

Frequently Asked Questions

Absolutely. Your nervous system is trying to process a reality that doesn't match what felt stable yesterday. That disorienting "did this really happen?" feeling upon waking is your brain's attempt to reconcile the before and after of crisis.

Both are necessary. Make a list of what's actually in your control and act on those items, but recognize when you're using busyness to avoid feeling. True coping requires cycles of doing and feeling, not choosing one over the other.

The state of not-knowing and powerlessness is often harder than having a terrible plan. When action isn't possible, your job becomes tolerating uncertainty while trusting your proven capacity to navigate previous impossible situations, even when you couldn't see how.

Autopilot is a valid survival mode during crisis. Doing basic tasks—dinner, work emails, household maintenance—while feeling disconnected is your psyche's way of maintaining function while processing trauma. Don't set the bar higher than basic functioning.

Comfort looks different for everyone—angry runs, reaching out to therapists, popcorn dinners, or complete withdrawal. There's no "right" way to self-soothe. Still yourself momentarily and ask what your body/mind/soul needs, then honor that without judgment.

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Your LinkedIn profile tells one story. Your 3 AM thoughts tell another. If vacation makes you anxious, if praise feels hollow, if you’re planning your next move before finishing the current one—you’re not alone. And you’re *not* broken.

This quiz reveals the invisible patterns from childhood that keep you running. Why enough is never enough. Why success doesn’t equal satisfaction. Why rest feels like risk.

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