And life – when you come from a relational trauma background where you possibly don’t have the buffering impacts of a consistent, constant, loving, devoted, and competent family of origin members – can, at times, make you feel overwhelmed, like moving through the world without a skin.

Raw and exposed, more prone to the pain and stings, lacking a barrier between you and hardship that some others seem to have and take for granted.

These posts are meant for anyone and everyone who is feeling overwhelmed right now, of course. 

But these posts are especially meant for those who can’t pick up the phone and call their mother or father for advice. 

For comfort. Reassurance. Guidance. Critical logistical support.

These essays are my gift to those of you who feel proverbially (and actually) orphaned and alone in this world, hungry for solace from parenting sources who can’t give it to you.

Please, read these words, and imagine a loving, devoted, fiercely protective parent is speaking them to you.

Soak the words in and come back to this post when you feel overwhelmed. 

Re-read it again and again until you can internalize some of and all of what is said as you work at becoming your own good-enough inner mother and father, moving through this sometimes very overwhelming world. 

And please know that I’m right there with you and I care about you so much. 

We may not know each other, but I know what it is to feel absolutely overwhelmed and hungry for comfort – just like you.  

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Honey. 

You have been going through a really, really tough time, haven’t you?

It’s been one thing after another for you — truly one hard thing after another for the last few months. 

Any one of those things that you’ve faced would have felt like a lot – too much, really – for most people.

And yet you’ve had to deal with many, many hard things for a long time now.

You’re holding all of this. 

You are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

And I know this has all taken a toll on you – I see it. 

I hear it in your voice. You sound sad, and you sound tired.

I see it on your face. Your smile doesn’t come as often these days. I see it in your eyes. They look far away and distant.

I can sense it in your heart. You feel heavy and burdened, and you don’t feel light and hopeful. 

You feel worn down, weary, tired, and I know you’re probably questioning “Why me? And when do I get a break?”

Oh honey, I know you’re tired. 

And this feels like it’s too much because it is too much.