💖 A Soft Alt Girl’s Guide to Feeling Better (Eventually)

Because healing isn’t linear—and that’s okay.

Feeling better isn’t linear. Healing comes with a lot of ups and downs, and it’s almost never a straight path. It’s slow, messy, and more often than not kind of exhausting.

This isn’t a self-help post. I don’t have one magic piece of wisdom that’s going to instantly improve your life. Honestly, this whole blog is just me trying to get through my own shit—softly.

This isn’t about repair. It’s not about fixing what’s broken.
It’s about softening.
Softening my expectations.
Softening the way I speak to myself.
Softening how I move through the world.

This is a list of the things that help me feel a little better, when I can’t be all the way okay. Not because they cure anything—but because they remind me I’m still here. Still trying. Still worthy of care. That I deserve to be gentle with myself.

🧣 The Physical Stuff

If I could live in baggy sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt every single day, I absolutely would. Comfort is Queen. That said… there’s also something about getting dressed up—doing my hair, throwing on some eyeliner, putting on a bold outfit—that feels like armor. Like war paint. Maybe it’s residual trauma from music school (show up in your best outfit and put on a damn show), but there’s power in presenting as if I’ve got it together, even when I’m falling apart a little.

Everyone in my family is neurospicy to some capacity. I won’t weigh in on any diagnosis I may or may not have specifically, but I will say my comfort foods are absolutely textbook. Chicken nuggets are my go-to when I need a little serotonin in edible form. But if we’re talking more “grown-up” comfort? Soup and grilled cheese with a cup of Earl Grey tea is my holy trinity of cozy. 

Getting outside is something I wish I did more. I used to spend so much time outside in my twenties, but now I basically live like a little indoor cryptid because I’m paying way too much in rent to not enjoy my apartment. Still, when I do make it to the beach early in the morning, it’s incredibly grounding. I always forget how good the ocean air feels until I’m breathing it again.

And then there’s yoga, obviously. Stretching, moving, breathing. Being in my body. That always helps.

Also? Silent disco dance parties. Headphones on, lights off, vibes high. Bonus points for fun galaxy lamps, disco balls, and projectors (all of which I am not ashamed to say I own and utilize pretty much daily)

📻 The Emotional Tools

Here’s the thing—I’m not the kind of person who listens to sad playlists when I’m sad. I don’t want soft piano and weepy lyrics when I’m already spiraling. I want chaos. I want noise. I want “fuck this shit, I do what I want” vibes with a beat that makes me dance like a gremlin in my kitchen at 10pm.

Most of my go-to songs are ironically upbeat, hiding messy, emotional lyrics under synthy rebellion. That dissonance? It helps. It keeps me moving. It reminds me that sadness can still be loud and alive. 

Journaling has also been huge for me, but not in a structured, prompted kind of way. I don’t journal to solve anything. I do it to release. To get the whirlwind of thoughts out of my head and onto the page where they can’t trap me. It’s messy, often dramatic, and almost never gets reread—but it clears space. It brings me back to myself.

I’ve also made probably an embarassing number of private TikToks—just for me. Not to post, not to share. Just to watch later when I forget who I am. They’re part selfie, part soft scream, part emotional scrapbook. Little reminders that I exist in more than just this moment. And little reminders of the moments so I can remember what happened.

And therapy? That’s been a journey. It took me years to trust it—growing up with a therapist mom meant I had some walls built real early, there’s a lot to unpack there—but working with someone now who actually gets me has changed everything. We talk a lot about Internal Family Systems and how to check in with the different parts of myself, especially the ones that are hurting. It’s not about fixing them. It’s about witnessing them. Holding space. Letting them be seen.

Sometimes the emotional tools aren’t loud or obvious. Sometimes they’re weird little things that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. But they work. And that’s what matters.

🧠 Mental Reframes That Help

No one’s perfect—and I’m not trying to be. But being imperfect, being messy, being afraid... that’s still hard.

Sometimes the fear of doing something wrong is so overwhelming that I don’t do anything at all. Sometimes I shut down completely. Sometimes I cry because that’s the only release that makes sense in the moment. And that’s okay.

I’m trying to meet myself where I am, even when where I am feels uncomfortable.
I’m learning to be kinder—to create things just because I want to, not because I need to be good at them. To follow joy without performance. To do the thing anyway, even if it’s awkward or incomplete.

I’ve been working on knowing the difference between rest and rot.
Rest feels like nourishment.
Rot feels like disappearing.
Sometimes I need stillness, and sometimes I need momentum. The hard part is being honest enough with myself to know which one I’m actually choosing.

And maybe the biggest reframe is this: it’s okay to admit that something hurts.
It doesn’t mean I’m failing.
It doesn’t mean I’m broken.
It just means I’m human. And I’m paying attention.

🌙 The Soft Landing

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer to feeling better. No secret formula. No magical routine that fixes everything.

Some days, it’s a dance party in the kitchen that keeps you going.
Other days, it’s journaling through the tears or finally getting outside for five minutes throwing a ball for the dog.
Sometimes it’s soup. Sometimes it’s sleeping way too long.
Sometimes it’s all of that in the same 24 hours.

This isn’t a guide to healing. It’s a little list of what helps me soften when the world feels sharp. A reminder that you don’t have to fix your whole life to take care of yourself in it.

If you’re in a season of sadness, uncertainty, or just general “what the hell is happening,” I hope you know you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not behind.

You’re just human. And being human is hard.
But softness is still an option.

This week’s mantra:
“Even when I feel like I’m falling apart, I can still be soft with myself.”