A.S. Thorne

Some days, hope doesn’t look like sunrise.
It looks like finally washing the dishes.
Like answering one message.
Like sitting in the shower a little too long because the water feels safe.

I used to think healing would feel like a revelation – a rush of light after years of gray.
That one day I’d wake up and feel whole again.
But the truth is quieter, humbler.
Healing doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just arrives –
in a moment where you realize you’ve made it another day,
or you’ve laughed, even for a second,
and it didn’t feel wrong.

Depression teaches you to measure progress in breaths, not milestones.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe that’s the kind of grace we forget to give ourselves –
to see our survival as sacred.

If the only light you have today is a matchstick glow – that’s enough.
It doesn’t have to set the world ablaze.
It just has to remind you that warmth still exists,
that you still do.

🕯️ You’re still here. You’re still trying. And that’s something holy in itself.

🖤 A.S. Thorne 🖤

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Lately, I’ve had to remind myself that healing doesn’t always feel like progress.
Sometimes it feels like standing still and breathing through the weight. But I think that counts too. If you’ve been waiting for hope to roar back like thunder, maybe start looking for it in the smallest places – a song, a scent, a soft breath that feels almost like peace.

If you’ve found a little light lately — no matter how small — share it in the comments or leave a 🕯️.
You never know who might need to see it.