When you struggle to find success and each attempt mimics a final, suffocating gasp for air;

when you can’t escape the urge to beat yourself down, to hate, diminish and abandon self;

when you see the once brightly lit markers of progress flicker and dim;

when you suddenly build enough momentum to try again, but the weight of past failures taunt you, and you grow overwhelmed, and the lights grow absent, and you collapse not defeated, but still ready to surrender;

when you wait for something to encourage you, but remain hopeless because “it’s just too hard”;

when you find yourself encased by the steel bars of your mind, with every thought a torment;

when your days merge into a relentless theme of doubt;

when you hopelessly seek a hand amongst the grey to pull you out and you desperately wish for a break;

when you emerge from the ground on shaky knees, unaware of the ticking timer, anticipating, marking the minutes until your next fall;

when you feel trapped in a web of your own design

— then you will understand what it is like to be stuck and worn down, to lack self-compassion.