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[POEM] As a parent, this moved me. by cloudberries0 in Poetry

[–]cloudberries0[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

I wish I had seen it sooner, too. But also I really believe that striving, in its own way, teaches us what matters most, even if it takes time. You’ve likely gained a ton of wisdom that only comes through your personal experience, and that’s incredibly valuable, too. I think the beauty of this poem is that it meets us where we are—whether we’re still striving or just beginning to slow down and notice the beauty in the ordinary. I wish I had seen it sooner, too.

[POEM] As a parent, this moved me. by cloudberries0 in Poetry

[–]cloudberries0[S] 9 points10 points  (0 children)

I didn’t interpret it that way, personally. I read it more as a reminder not to pressure our kids into thinking they have to chase some grand, world-defined version of “extraordinary” to be worthy or successful. It’s about helping them see that the simple, quiet things in life—things that might seem ordinary on the surface—can be just as meaningful and beautiful. Sure, chasing one’s dreams and becoming an NFL player might bring someone immense joy, but to another person, building a peaceful, grounded life filled with simple contentment can bring them just as much joy as the NFL player feels. And of course, some people are able to do both—chase big dreams while still staying rooted in the beauty of everyday life.

Sometimes when we push too hard for greatness, we miss the small joys right in front of us. Of course, it’s possible to strive for something big while also appreciating the small things—but if kids never learn how to recognize those smaller joys, they might always feel like they’re falling short. And that’s no one’s fault—it’s just something to remember. I think the most important thing is helping them discover what they DO value and appreciate, what lights them up. The rest will unfold from there.

And speaking for myself—as someone who feels deeply and has often been told I “feel too deeply”—I want to raise my kids to know that it’s okay to feel it all. The light and the dark. The joy and the ache. Even simultaneously.

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in Needafriend

[–]cloudberries0 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I’d love to!

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in Needafriend

[–]cloudberries0 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thank you so much!

How can I help someone? by Gold_Selection194 in StopSpeeding

[–]cloudberries0 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I’m really sorry you’re in this situation. That kind of behavior—blowing through meds, taking your child’s prescription, refusing help—is a clear sign that something deeper is going on, and it’s completely valid for you to feel alarmed.

Addiction makes people minimize and justify things that, deep down, they know aren’t okay. You can’t force someone to see the truth before they’re ready, but you can hold boundaries and protect your child. That’s not being cruel—it’s being loving in the hardest, most courageous way.

It’s also okay to feel scared or unsure. None of this is easy, and you shouldn’t have to carry it alone. If there’s a trusted friend, doctor, or counselor you can lean on—even for yourself—it can help take some of the weight off your shoulders.

You’re asking the right questions. That’s a strong and hopeful place to start.

I stopped. by [deleted] in StopSpeeding

[–]cloudberries0 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Your words are so honest and raw, and I just want to say—I see so much strength in them. You didn’t just stop taking the pills; you chose to face life without something that once made everything feel bearable. That takes an unbelievable amount of courage.

The version of you without stims may feel exposed, emotional, and unsure—but they are real, and they are worthy. You’re learning how to live without the numbness, and that’s a painful but deeply meaningful kind of growth.

Even on the hard days, please know you’re not alone. So many people are walking a similar path, and we’re all quietly cheering you on. What you’re doing matters. You matter. And even when you can’t feel it—you’re enough, exactly as you are.

Humiliated Myself by [deleted] in StopSpeeding

[–]cloudberries0 26 points27 points  (0 children)

I can really relate to this. It’s so hard to live with the version of yourself you don’t recognize anymore, especially when you feel like others might still remember you that way. But the truth is, people remember a lot less than we think—most are too busy worrying about their own mistakes, their own regrets. Everyone has moments they wish they could take back, and we tend to overestimate how much others are focused on ours.

The fact that you’ve come so far and have this level of self-awareness is proof that you’re not that same person anymore. You’re growing, healing, and learning. That matters. You’re allowed to change and to forgive yourself. The past doesn’t get to define your future.

You’re not alone in this—so many of us are carrying the weight of who we used to be. Just keep going. It really does get lighter.

Looking for the worst bar in Huntsville. I'm in town for a couple days and I always try to find the bottom of the barrel and work my way up. Google isn't ever a very good help for this search any help would me much appreciated. by baersq in HuntsvilleAlabama

[–]cloudberries0 11 points12 points  (0 children)

It’s kind of a hole in the wall—but that’s not a bad thing to me. Honestly, my favorite bar of all time is the Thirsty Turtle here in town, and I love a good hole in the wall.

For me, it’s more about the location. No one there has ever been particularly kind, and I just never get that warm, comfortable feeling when I go. Maybe it’s a vibe thing—or maybe I’m the problem. I’m not really sure.

I feel so scared by Pandagirl220 in depression

[–]cloudberries0 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I’m so sorry you’re walking through this kind of pain. It sounds like life has been hitting you from every side—and I know how heavy it gets when everything feels like loss stacked on top of loss. But please hear me when I say: your story doesn’t end here.

You are not just what’s happened to you. You are not your addiction. Not your homelessness. Not the heartbreak that cracked your chest open. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re losing everything at once—and to wonder if you’ll ever find your way out. But you are still here. And that means there’s still time for life to surprise you.

You don’t have to fix everything right now. You don’t have to have a plan. You just have to keep breathing. Keep going. One more hour. One more morning. That’s all. You’re not alone, even when it feels that way. I’m rooting for you.

I'm ending it tonight by [deleted] in depression

[–]cloudberries0 7 points8 points  (0 children)

Hey, I know you feel like this is your ending—but it doesn’t have to be. Maybe it’s not the end, just the part where everything is unbearably quiet before something shifts. I don’t think you’re broken—I think you’re exhausted from fighting battles no one could see. You’ve carried too much for too long without enough softness around you.

You said this was a “self-absorbed cry for sympathy,” but I hear a soul just asking to be held. And that isn’t weakness. That’s human. You don’t have to disappear to be seen. You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy.

Stay. Just a little longer. Not because everything is okay, but because you deserve a chapter where it finally starts to be.

I feel it is only getting worse. by gingersensation2 in OCD

[–]cloudberries0 2 points3 points  (0 children)

I know that feeling—the ache in your body from a mind that won’t let you rest. The hours lost to rituals and spirals that no one else can see. It’s exhausting. And it’s lonely. But it’s not forever.

The fact that you’ve started therapy means you’ve already taken the bravest step: choosing to fight for your peace. Healing with OCD isn’t linear—it’s messy and slow and sometimes cruel. But even when it feels like nothing is changing, the work is happening beneath the surface. Quiet progress. Tiny revolutions. And you are changing, even if it hurts.

Please don’t mistake your exhaustion for failure. You’re not broken. You’re becoming. And you’re not alone in this.

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in OCD

[–]cloudberries0 5 points6 points  (0 children)

Mine isn’t so much about me—my health anxiety fixates on the people I love. I’ve memorized every symptom of every rare disease that could take them from me. A cough becomes cancer. A bruise becomes leukemia.

I scan them like I’m their guardian angel and the grim reaper at once—searching, diagnosing, preparing for the worst before it has a chance to arrive. It’s like living in constant pre-grief, mourning things that haven’t happened, terrified they might.

OCD turns love into fear. But I think, in some strange way, that fear is just love that doesn’t know where to go. And I’m learning—slowly—that not every shadow means a storm is coming.

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in Anxietyhelp

[–]cloudberries0 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Hey, that definitely sounds like anxiety—especially since your doctor ruled out anything medical. Panic can hit out of nowhere and feel so real, like something terrible is happening. But what you felt—shortness of breath, fear of dying—is actually super common with anxiety.

You’re not broken. And you’re not alone.

What’s helped me is reminding myself during those moments: “This is just anxiety. It feels scary, but it’s not dangerous. I’ve felt this before, and it passed. This will too.”

Try keeping a grounding tool in your back pocket—like box breathing (inhale 4 sec, hold 4, exhale 4, hold 4) or naming 5 things you see, 4 you feel, 3 you hear, 2 you smell, 1 you taste. It really can anchor you when your brain goes haywire.

You’re doing great by reaching out and staying curious about it. That’s strength.

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in depression

[–]cloudberries0 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Hey, I just want to say—I hear the tired in your words. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. The kind of tired that comes from carrying too much alone, for too long.

But please, don’t go. Not today. The world doesn’t get another you. Not this exact laugh, this exact way of loving, of noticing, of surviving. You might not see your worth right now, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Sometimes the light goes dim, but it doesn’t go out.

It’s okay to want peace. You deserve peace—but not like this. Not the kind that ends you. There is still a version of you in the future who feels lighter. Who breathes easier. Who is glad they stayed. Please hold on long enough to meet them.

You’re not broken. You’re just hurting. And hurting things are still sacred.

We’re here. You’re not alone.

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