I really, REALLY hate giving advice. For two reasons.

One: I don’t know shit.
Two: People typically already know what they need to do—they just need someone wise enough who can shut up and listen while they sort it all out.

But, I feel oddly compelled in this moment to write about what has genuinely helped me over this past (almost) year. I’m thinking of it more like wisdom from the depths of despair than an advice column. At least that’s what I’m telling myself in order to hit publish.

I have heard from readers and friends over the past months who feel my experiences resonate with them, or they’ve connected with something I’ve written. So, in a way, this post would be a CliffsNotes version, a gift to you so you don’t have to wade through all the previous bullshit. You’re welcome.

Lately I’ve been experimenting with writing in its different forms. That said, bear with me today. If this isn’t your vibe, it’s cool. I’ll find you next time. Just skip this one.

If you are up for some stupid little tidbits I’ve collected or are dealing with some mind-blowing chaos, read on. There’s only five pieces of advice because, well, maybe I only know five things.

1. In October of last year I kept asking my therapist, “when will I get better?”. She patiently told me, every single time, that there’s no timeline for healing. I wanted to rush to the part of my story where I was me again. I craved peace. In the midst of my giant breakdown, people kept saying things, like, “oh, it’s going to get better, don’t worry.” Let me just say, that’s a very painful thing to hear when you are super depressed. A well-meaning person has just steam rolled over your experience and ignored where you are right now. We like a happy ending, but toxic positivity, is, well, toxic. I would have wanted those same people to tell me everything is royally fucked while they cleaned my house and fed me french fries. Don’t talk to me about some murky future I can’t see right now. If I could go back, I would be very clear about what I needed. I’d ask for those people to sit with me in the darkness instead of fast forwarding through my trauma.

2. Don’t you dare look further than one hour ahead. It’s dark and scary af to even consider tomorrow or the day after when you are going through trauma. I often asked myself, “What do I need to make it through the next hour?” and then went from there. It’s simply the only way to make it through the day in my opinion.

3. Therapy forever and ever. Amen. Virtual. In-person. Whatever. Make it happen. Or, if you are like me, make someone else find a therapist for you.

4. Give your mind a rest, even if it’s just a few minutes a day. When you are in an extreme situation, the mind is a haunted house. You’ll need a break. For me, I plunged into icy waters, tried to play piano, ran while blasting music and forced myself to do 30 days of yoga in a row. It could be any activity where you are so focused on one thing, everything else gets quiet. Find out what it is for you and keep at it. Or, find me, and we’ll jump through the ice together.

5. Hang out with people even when it’s the actual last thing you want to do. There were times when I was so depressed I wanted to just block everyone out. However, by forcing myself to say yes to a walk or coffee, my day would get brighter. I never came back home saying, “I wish I hadn’t hung out with my friend”.

So, listen, I’m not under any illusions that you haven’t heard this advice before, but maybe it helps to know what works.

To be clear, I’m not pretending I’m healed by writing this post, but I can share that I’ve made progress. When I wrote this article in the Boston Globe, I was consistently an asshole to myself. Now I’m kinder to me. Gentler. I think it’s important you know that I do owe my progress to a combination of all of these things I’ve mentioned. Maybe it’s worth a shot.

I don’t know if I’m removed enough
or ever will be
to share
precisely how I got here today.

I sit in disbelief
remembering suddenly where I am
exactly eight months to the day
when my life became a rug
ripped out violently from underneath me.

Like the trick
where a tablecloth is yanked out
from underneath plates and cups
nothing shifting.

But it’s not a trick, is it?

It takes skill and practice
to master the art.
It takes planning.

A planned attack
on my senses
my soul
my entire being.

Every day forward was an impossibility
falling to my knees
scraping by
sleepless and
hopeless.

I was an imposter
showing up
hoping no one would notice
I was decaying.

I would see her in visions.
It was me
and she was OK.
I let her guide me
motivate me
to inch forward
until suddenly
I wasn’t so shattered anymore.

I came face to face with the version of me
who was waiting for
me
just to keep trying
and trying
to arrive.