Things To Do When You Don't Feel Good
A short guide for rainy days.
Things To Do When You Don’t Feel Good
I write this magazine about joy, which is my focus, so perhaps it seems counterintuitive to talk about feeling terribly. But being a human means that sometimes you feel terrible; it’s unavoidable. Terrible things happen that grieve you, some up close and personal, some from afar. We inevitably wake up feeling terrible on occasion. In some seasons, it is prolonged terribleness, and you start to wonder if there will be any days you will not wake up feeling terribly.
I find deep meaning in making spaces for people that feel like a relief. I had a storefront years ago, and the feedback I got the most was that people loved to be in there; it made them happy.
In the store, there was a twinkling disco ball that refracted light on the smooth concrete floors. I had windows fitted with a specific film that turned sunlight into brilliant rainbows, which reflected everywhere. The scent in the air was citrus-heavy with sandalwood undertones. And you could come to the tea bar in the back and get the most delicious London Fog I have ever had. Everything echoed joy, very much on purpose.
I was meticulous about every inch of the space being magical.
I believe it meant a lot to people that they could be there as long as they liked, sipping a cup of hot tea. A certain bunch who loved to linger in the shop and came by weekly, and I knew them by name. I could tell that they needed a place to rest and recover from whatever it was they were walking through. It meant a lot to me that they chose the color-filled place for brief shelter.
It was in that space I wrestled with my own grief. I learned while standing in the store that my younger cousin Jake had unexpectedly passed. I spent the next day standing in the empty store, packing tea silently as the sunlight shone through the historic windows, refracting color. Because while pain and suffering are unavoidable, we still need to put ourselves in places that remind us of joy. I collect colors, photos, art, and words that reflect a sustaining hope — and I save them to consider for rainy days.
I found myself recovering from the loss (of both my loved one and my shop) in a teaching position. Nearly overnight, I became a middle school teacher in 2021. As I got my footing, I realized something curious. There were lingerers here, too.
A certain group of students started storing their items in my classroom — changes of clothes for athletics, other class projects, lunches, you name it. They started returning after school and during lunches to just sit around and linger. At first, I was a little irritated by the rapidly forming habit. But when I pointed out the pile of bags to a veteran teacher, her eyes widdened and she said, “They are treating your room like it is their home. You made a space they feel comfortable in.” I almost cried at the realization.
Then my perspective mostly changed, other than when I occasionally tripped on someone’s drawstring bag.
In my work and in my life, I want to provide an alternative to despair. A stopping place where you can rest briefly, be delighted, and carry on your way. I feel a specific call to this role. I think that’s always been a mission I have taken up intuitively, even as a child, and something I always come back to.
This is why I write, this is why I bother with social media and Substack and spend twilight hours designing graphics, and train rides writing my articles. It’s a call I can’t deny. I want to tell stories and make things that brighten your day wildly. And I hope you feel the deep intention of carving out a space (this time digitally) that feels like a relief.
In college, I struggled painfully with depression. I learned a lot now that I wish I knew then. I am writing this as a very practical guide that I wish I had when I was younger. You can take what you need and leave what you don’t — it’s in no particular order.
I hope it’s a help this week, on any rainy day, or anytime you wake up feeling terribly.
I also hope it is a reference when you find yourself in the position of comforting someone else.
Step one: Change the way you are talking to yourself immediately. If you woke up feeling terrible, you are probably already being incredibly mean to yourself. This helps no one. You are mad you’re not functioning, up, and feeling like normal. Shift your tone, quickly. Begin speaking to yourself like you would if your best friend were sick with a cold and you brought them over some soup. Be slow, kind, and recognize you’ll be better soon. Communicate care to yourself — adjust your expectations for the to-do list for the day, wear your very favorite sweater, treat yourself like you would if you were taking care of someone else.
Here is an earnest reminder: look at nature. Do you see how storms arrive and pass? Icy snow freezes the ground, and then it melts into a plush green bed months later. Sometimes a beach storm will paint the sky charcoal, and then by lunch, the sun is out, the sky is a vibrant blue, and beachgoers are basking in it — all within hours. There is no place on earth where there is not this pattern of pain and growth. And our experiences as humans are similar. Everything moves through rhythms and seasons. Occasionally, when something hits me really hard, I begin to panic that I will never feel better. But the older I get, the more I feel confident that every storm — even a wretched hurricane — will eventually pass. I will feel the sun again. That belief is called hope. And hope is not a natural disposition, but a muscle to strengthen. Sometimes when I feel particularly weak, I look to humans who have endured tremendous storms, and I borrow their hope. Write it on a sticky note somewhere you will see it if you must: “The sun will shine again.”
Give your phone a nap. Put it in a room, cabinet, drawer, etc., far away, and do not consume for a long while. When you are feeling bad, it’s so easy to scroll mindlessly. Like candy. I know I want candy when I feel blue. But the thing about phone candy is that it is never conscious of you or kind to you. You can look to it for something happy, and it can show you something horrific. Here is what I would say to my best friend — if your heart is weary, it’s probably not worth the gamble of picking up a phone to help you. It’s a risk to scroll, and I’d like you to take care of yourself in a more sure way.
Once I said to Connor, “I think I need to take a break from Instagram, check out a bit.” And he laughed and said, “You mean check-in? To real life?”
This is a reminder that the social spaces, even precious baby Substack, are not your real life. I have never once been in a situation where I felt bad, and then scrolled an hour away, and it made me feel better. It has only always made me feel worse. No need to punish yourself or feel bad about wanting to be distracted, just put away the unhealthy distraction as soon as you feel terribly, and bet on a distraction that will treat you more predictably. Alternatives: a book, a board game, a puzzle, a movie, a new recipe, something you make with your hands.
Make your environment smile: Your environment impacts how you feel. Even in the throes of navigating a crisis, your space still has an impact on how you feel. Set a timer and do some baby steps of making it better. Tidy, sure. But also pull out some photos of people you care about. Stick a note that meant a lot to you on your mirror. Pull out a favorite plate that reminds you of your grandma and put it on display. Light the candle that reminds you of how your home smelled a few years back. Pull out your favorite book, leave it out.
Write, write: Daily journaling is a practice that has provided me with buoyancy in storms for years. When I sit with my blank pages in the morning, before I have read an email or message, I am better for it the rest of the day. It is on paper that problems become clearer, often smaller. My desires and hopes seem more straightforward, too. I usually write prayers. Pen on paper is a balm for a lot of hurt. It allows all the thoughts, angst, and pain to exist outside of your head, and just based on my experience, my head always ends up feeling lighter.
Walk: This is a simple, annoying truth. Walking somewhere does help you feel better. Being outside helps you. Humans were made for the outside, after all. If you have a dog, treat them to an extra-long walk. Or go on an errand. Go for a cup of chai, just for you. Or go walk somewhere you’ve never been. Do a lap, listen to an audiobook, or listen to your favorite songs. Do big, deep breaths while you walk and look for a bird or squirrel or some other friend.
Talk for a long time: Who is a person who makes you feel grounded? The sound of their voice brings a certain clarity? They always seem to know your heart’s posture and how to help navigate you. Talk to that person. Talk it all out. Ask them to share a coffee or a tea at your house or theirs. Or sit on the phone for an hour. Your friends and family care for you deeply. Don’t withhold the opportunity to care for you from them. I know the vulnerability part is nauseating, but you get over that quickly when someone who loves you comes alongside you. Nausea can be good. It often precedes something great. Tell someone you have a lot on your mind and would appreciate their advice and a listening ear.
I had a friend share over coffee the other day that she saw an ad for an AI bot where a real teenager shared they had dark thoughts but didn’t want to burden their friends and family, so they endorsed this AI as a way to get their feelings out without hurting anyone.
After sharing about the ad, she remarked, “All humans are burdensome. When we are young, we are burdensome. When we are old, we are burdensome. A lot of the in-between parts, we are burdensome too.” That is what it means to be human. To carry the burdens of others with care, and to have our own carried. That’s the friction that keeps us human.
The ol’ walk and talk: Combine the last two ideas for an even better result. Walk and talk with someone. Take a stroll, share your feelings. Still look for squirrels, probably.
Hot showers, ice-cold water: Take a very hot shower and follow it up with a very ice-cold cup of water. This is Jenna science. I don’t know, but it always makes me feel better. Worth a try.
Become your own grandma: Just as a mindset shift, try becoming your own grandma. You know how they have warmed blankets, soup, and some daytime show at the ready? Try that pace out for yourself. When we wake up feeling terribly, we strategize our calendars and begin to feel overwhelmed at our capacity shift. Are you able to manage one day, or even just a few hours, of feeling down and out and on the couch with soup? That level of thoughtful care, even briefly, can be an antidote to a lot of sadness.
Do something for someone else: Hopelessness can happen when we feel like we can’t do anything. Putting ourselves in a position of service alleviates that feeling — and helps others feel hopeful too. That could look like many things for many people. Send someone a letter only meant to encourage them. Volunteer your time. Put away your roommates’ dishes just because. Sign a petition. Make a meal for your neighbor. Donate. Call someone who has been on your mind.
Give away what you do not have, my mom used to say. Out of joy? Give joy to someone else. Out of friends? Be a friend to someone who doesn’t have many.
These were small, bite-sized mindsets and tasks that have helped me throughout the years, and I hope something resonated. I have been working on this list for a while, and this felt like a week someone may need these reminders. XO Jenna O.
(P.S. Next week, I am sharing some of those J-14 style quizzes you asked for!)
Here are curated writings I think go well with this piece:
🐚 Read more thoughtfully created articles here
🪄 Shop all my favorite things
🍒 Let’s be internet friends, please! @ jennaisfeeling
🪄 Get more inspiration
This was just what we all needed 💙
🩷mom advice🩷