Grief is one of the hardest things we face as humans. It doesn’t matter if the loss is sudden or expected, big or small—when love ends in goodbye, our world changes.

I’ve been learning this firsthand after saying goodbye to my cat, Georgia. I adopted her knowing our time might be short, but I didn’t expect how deeply she would become part of my daily rhythm, or how much it would hurt to lose her.

But that’s what grief is. It’s the ache of absence where love used to live.

And while grief is universal, it’s also deeply personal. There’s no single way to experience it, no timeline that makes sense for everyone. But there are ways to move through it with compassion—for yourself, for others, and for the one you lost.

You know that kind of tired that sleep can’t fix? That’s burnout — and for soft girls like us, it hits a little differently.
We’re the feelers, the nurturers, the ones who want to show up for everyone (and somehow still look cute doing it). But somewhere between late-night overthinking and early-morning alarms, we forget that softness isn’t weakness — it’s what makes us human.

When people talk about self-care, they usually picture candles, bubble baths, yoga, and maybe a vacation you can’t afford to take. But self-care isn’t just what you do after work. Sometimes, the most essential self-care happens during the workday.

If you’re neurodivergent, chronically tired, mentally overwhelmed, or just living through late-stage capitalism, taking care of yourself at work isn’t optional. It’s how you survive.

Here’s what self-care actually looks like at work, even when it’s messy, imperfect, and done between tasks.

You’re exhausted. You know you need to sleep. But the second your head hits the pillow, your brain decides it’s time to replay every embarrassing thing you’ve ever said, spiral about the future, and plan the next ten years.

Sound familiar? Same.

Rest doesn’t come naturally to all of us—especially if you’re neurodivergent or just prone to anxious overthinking. But rest is a skill you can practice.

Here are a few ways I trick my brain into letting me actually chill.

Not every day needs a mental health emergency kit. But when the bad days hit—the ones where getting out of bed feels Olympic-level hard—I’m glad I have one.

Think of it like a first-aid kit, but instead of Band-Aids and Advil, it’s filled with things that help patch up your brain and heart when they’re in crisis mode.

Here’s what I keep in mine, and how you can build your own.