Anxiety and depression can try to trick me out of writing. They tell me its waste of time and frivolous. My anxious mind tells me my words aren’t worth anything, and my depression tells me I don’t have enough energy. Voices in my head echo behind my concentration, clamoring for my attention, to distract and stop me. If I listen I can believe the lie that writing is lazy, and I should be doing other things, or that it isn’t a worthy effort. I can let these voices steal from me my enjoyment of one of my most favorite things in the world.

You might not be a writer, but my guess is there’s something you love as much as writing. Maybe its dancing, running, painting, making people laugh, cooking, fixing old things, hiking in nature, or sitting in silent meditation. Don’t let your anxiety or depression
steal this from you. You need it to restore, what your monsters try to leech from you. You need it to find your joy and your heart song. You need it to untangle the knots of your confused and weary soul.