February 25, 2023 by Molly Patrick

Laying on the floor

There’s a certain flavor of hard that, when it hits, the only place you can go is the floor.

The bed is too high.
The couch is too soft.
A chair doesn’t feel right.
Standing is out of the question.

So you drop as far down as you can get with an exhaustive exhale that both screams and whispers, “I don’t have anything left in me right now.” And you stay there as the hard, solid floor holds you, just as you are.

The mental list of everything begging to get done fades away, along with the ability to decide, figure out, hold space for, wrap your head around, plan, dodge, take action, pivot, predict, negotiate, stay positive, or do one more fucking thing.

Not because you don’t want to, but because sometimes we reach a point where the body and mind sweetly and firmly say:

No more, my love. No More. 
It can all wait. 

No matter how hard shit gets, remember that we are meant to feel this life.
Sometimes it feels amazing, and sometimes it feels horrible. Sometimes floors are for dancing, and sometimes they are for curling up and crying on.

The next time the only place you can go is the floor, go there unapologetically and remember that it’s all part of the metamorphosis of your life. You are strong (floor and all). You are capable. And you are worthy of the life you most desire.


Get the weekly Sweary Saturday Love Letter like what you've read above

Written by ex-boozer and ex-smoker, Molly Patrick that will help you eat more plants while throwing perfection down the garbage disposal.


Not for those offended by the F word.