When You Have Nothing Left To Lose, You Have Everything To Gain.

The cold power button winced as the iridescent glare from my computer streamed onto my face. It was 6:55 am on a Tuesday, December morning. While the sun hadn’t quite caught up to the moment, my coffee mug was nestled firmly between my fingers and the top of my work desk. A few sips and my eyes would rise. A few sips of optimism and the day may just go swiftly.

It was the early shift as an At-Home Customer Care Representative for a Christmas tree company. It couldn’t sound more specific than that. My job is to console irate customers that haven’t had their Christmas tree delivered yet, and at a week and 5 days before Christmas, folks were not happy. Which meant my day would be long and grueling, refunding orders or tracking down missing 7ft pine trees across the country, while simultaneously being berated for not providing the "Christmas Magic".

December 2020. Still a pandemic year.

Mentally coiled with my current state of life and the unhealed world around me, I was also recovering from a toxic four-year relationship that had drained me of everything I once had. My dignity, peace, and now most notably, my finances all took a major hit. I left him July 10th, 2020 with nothing but the two suitcases I could recover from our Brooklyn apartment. Out of safety and avoidance, I fled with what I could.

I paused my career as a fashion model in New York to move back to my hometown in Ohio, shacking up at my mother’s house because…life. Not living in New York meant no comfy income and no comfy income meant I’d be trading the Brooklyn Bridge for the Waffle House. By the time I finally realized I was succumbing to a narcissistic dynamic, my funds were diminished because my ex-partner lost his job, and I was picking up the slack. The idea of moving and paying for a $1200 bedroom with roommates didn’t financially make sense at that moment, so I left.

The fashion world was picking back up by the time I had to move back home, but I had maxed out most of my credit cards and my mental health became crippling.

My computer lagged. As always, it took about 10 full minutes for my work platforms to upload on my browser, my headset to function properly, and my team's Slack chat to start chirping. I took that 10 min grace period to pull out my personal notebook. I quickly made a note of to-do’s for after my shift and then I felt my shoulders tense with anguish.

I wasn’t happy. It was obvious from my posture to the monotonous structure of my current life. I hated my job but in mid-pandemic and due to the current circumstances, it was a job. My mind began replaying previous sermons of my family telling me to get my college degree when I was 22 because fashion modeling just wouldn’t pay the bills. I had proved them wrong all these years, but the idea of them being somewhat validated now at this moment made me nauseous.

The looming calendar reminders of my car payment buzzed on my phone to interrupt my current daydream. It never failed to remind me that I was in fact broke.

While I hated this virtual job at $20 per hour, this job was my only means of survival until I could get back to New York. Until then, every day would be the same, Monday through Friday.7 AM-4 PM. From catwalks to my mom’s spare bedroom, from campaigns to working from home as virtual customer care assistant…my ego had taken a hit

As of July 2020, a different life began. While I wasn’t pleased to be a 29-year-old woman, hitting rock bottom in rural Ohio, I was grateful for my mom who never let me sink into the concrete completely.

Depression grew and came in waves and for the last 6 months, my only concern was keeping a job and finding some sense of normalcy. Adjusting from the fast-paced life to my hometown arena of former friends and familiar faces, I sensed anxiety everywhere I went. Grocery stores felt like circuses, minor tasks felt like challenges, and my sleep was so out of whack that I doubt I slept more than 4 hours every night. So, I secluded in my mom’s spare bedroom for the last 6 months, occasionally popping back out to remind a friend that I’m just fine.

My computer was still lagging and after notifying my manager on duty with an email, I relished the delay.

• Pick up groceries
• Make a budget for January
• Laundry
• Make credit card payments

My after-work to-do list was complete but as I felt my shoulders tense and my neck let out a long crick, I realized how much self-care I lacked in initiating. Depression stunted me from feeling like I shouldn't even care about what I looked like anymore. I've worn sweatpants for nearly 6 months straight and didn't even stop to think about it until now. I had fallen off from secluding for months that it pained me to recognize how badly I missed the old me; the outgoing, the outspoken, and the career-driven me.

I tore out a page from my notebook, selected bright highlighters, and used “the good pen” for the occasion. January was approaching in two weeks. The new year always made me anxious because a new year meant pressure to be better than before. While social media unavoidably made self-care look like a well-curated lifestyle, the constant intimidation to start fresh always seemed to menace flashbacks of the old days. When I was modeling full time, I actually used to do those sorts of videos for skincare companies. You know, the influencer ones. Sitting poised and pleasant, I'd give witty tutorials or reviews on the latest and greatest, often smiling and giving what the fashion industry calls "face". Yet, here I sat hunched in a computer chair giving only acne and a messy bun from yesterday.

I was going to create a plan to get back to myself. Any and everything I could do needed to be implemented from here on out. Scouts honor.

My phone sang its erratic melody, alerting me that I was on the clock still. Depression makes you lucid like that. Normal everyday activities are a blur, and my sense of reality was skewed, to say the least.

It was my boss.

A 48-second phone call let me know that work would cease for the next few hours, while our company's tech support deciphered the reasoning behind the computer malfunctions.

I had a little over 3 hours to myself until my team had to clock back in at 11:00 AM. I took this as an affirmation to really draft out a solid self-care routine to start effectively that night, immediately after work. I wasn’t going to be an “I'll do It tomorrow” kind of woman anymore. If the internet experts say it takes a minimum of 18 days to form a new habit, starting now was necessary. Self-care was vital for me at this moment and the longer I dragged my feet, the more I knew I couldn’t stand to see who this shell of a person had become.

Standing up from my computer desk, I lightly stretched my arms and powered off my Dell. I ignited my year-old candle, gifted to me from my mom last Christmas, that sat buried in my side table drawer and began making my bed to set the tone. I lifted the sheets and gave them a vigorous shake; dog hair wafted into the wind like tiny cues that a laundry day was impending. While I laid out my sheets tightly across my bed, a sudden burst of confidence intertwined with hope had emerged over me. I could feel that I was serious about this plan of action by the way my adrenaline slowly swam through my body.

The last time I felt this sure of anything was when I got the call from my agent that I was booked for a big Nike gig last year, pre-pandemic. I remembered how validating that felt in my career. I would have never thought that life would have become so different from the last few years or that I would be making a sliver of what I used to. But this felt different. This was not a placebo effect, and I wasn’t going to ride the wave of reassurance for an hour until I panicked about what was next. "This is the beginning of a new chapter in life and today is day one", I murmured.

Assertively, I plumped my pillows into a comfortable cocoon, grabbed my coffee from my desk, and got settled in bed.

Budget. The most uninspiring part of this process was also the most vital. While I didn’t have a lot of flexibility, I did have three emergency $100 bills stashed in a shoebox hidden in my closet. The money was meant for a rainy day, but I considered this operation urgent, like a flash flood warning. After work, I would deposit this $300 at the ATM into my bank account as the vessel to rearranging my life... later giving bonus points to my frugality, if I could save a portion after this was all said and done.

I started by writing down things I could remember that I had enjoyed in the past. Since I couldn’t afford a monthly spa day anymore, I settled on at least budgeting back $45 for a monthly massage membership. Admittedly, I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, both figuratively and literally. One perk of living in a small town is that the price for healthy luxuries is often well below big-city rates. My old neighbor is a massage therapist and often advertises these membership specials on Facebook for $45 per month. Score. One massage a month was something to look forward to and a release to shed some of this built-up tension I accumulated from the past few months. I didn’t mind swapping out too many Starbucks trips for a monthly massage. I sent my neighbor a quick Facebook message to sign up for the offer and tucked my phone to the side.

$300 $255

If you’ve never experienced depression and anxiety, imagine it feeling like steel shackles on your feet, arms, emotions, and mind. You want to do many things but lack the energy and the confidence you may have once had is handicapped with mood swings, laziness, and a lot of self-resentment.

Loud sounds become alarm clocks and bright colors become headaches.

Your mind often trails off into memories from the past and the slightest interruption can derail you for the day. Every day is a battle. Will I sink or float above troubled waters today? Mentally, physically, and emotionally…swimming just didn’t seem like an option. Getting by is the goal. Simply getting by.

My sleep schedule was non-existent, so I knew that rehabilitating the area where I spent most of my life was important. I work in my bedroom, sleep in my bedroom, and sometimes lay lazily waiting for the day to end in this bedroom. I wanted my bed to be inviting and comfortable, and I read once that weighted blankets were great for people with anxiety. So, I pulled out my cell again and scoured the Walmart website for a new plush comforter.

My current blanket was from high school, saved from my mom like she was preserving memorabilia from my childhood. The blanket was thin as computer paper and twin-sized amongst my queen bed, but it was free. And because I didn’t properly tend to a sleep routine, upgraded bedding was essential to the newfound slumber I would soon receive. I found an emerald-toned goose-down comforter, which was heavy in stature and luxurious to the eye. The reviews lured me in, and the price sold me. $45.99. Add to cart.

$255- $45.99 = $209.01

While in the same momentum, I added four new pillows at $4.99 each. New pillows are always a treat, especially at five bucks.

$4.99 X 4 = $19.96

$209.01 - $19.96 = $189.05

Wait, no. Add one more.

$189.05 $184.06

I sipped my coffee as I cracked my left knuckles. "We’re cooking with gas now", I thought. My bed and harrowing backside were now taken care of. The coffee had grown lukewarm but in the state of my current optimism, I imagined the cup of Joe as a really decent iced coffee.

After a couple of sips, I settled on making a budget-friendly skincare routine. The best thing for my skin was a simple four-step process. Lately, I only dabbled in taking care of my skin, and sometimes I forgot to be diligent in keeping up with the hormonal acne that was almost always ablaze.

Cleanse. Tone. Moisturize. And something for the acne.

I already owned an unused cleanser, moisturizer, and toning trio that wasn't expired yet, so I opted on finding a good acne treatment to help clear up my inflammation. Sipping my iced coffee, I dug back into my phone and scoured the Walmart website again. A few reviews suggested a CBD branded acne spot treatment and that was good enough for me. $14.98.

*Click*. Add to cart.

$184.06-$14.98=$169.08

I gathered a grocery list of healthier options I could easily mix for meals and snacks. Working inward on a better diet, as opposed to late-night Oreo binges, was a must. Veggies, fruits, rice cakes, yogurt, orange juice, chicken, eggs, almond milk, hummus, pita chips, vitamin C, magnesium capsules (the right vitamins can help with depression), and a few other snacks were added to the cart. That brought my budget down to $90.12. I was comfortable with my new purchases and ordered the goodies as a car side pick-up. With the remaining funds left over, I figured that I would treat myself to a well-needed manicure and stick the remaining $40 or so in my savings.

The ambiance was next. What I needed now was to refresh my space a bit.

My mother kept sheer white sheets in the closet. If I was going to wake up, the sun needed to be my first nudge, well before my Alexa alarm sounded off. I figured if anything, this would help me wake up much easier, as opposed to the pitch-black atmosphere I normally roused to. My closet had a few random unboxed gifts I had never touched. An oil diffuser, a few Palo Santo sticks wrapped in a bow from a friend’s brand launch, and a jar of body butter.

Sometimes I wondered if these self-care gifts from family or peers were their way of revealing that they knew my current state of mind needed some easing, but nonetheless, it all came in handy for the occasion. I paired the Bluetooth diffuser gift set to my Alexa so that the diffuser would gently stream at 6:50 AM every morning. I’d wake up energized and ready for the day. The Palo Santo was set on my nightstand so I could remember to make use of it for cleaning days.

*Ding*.

My email chimed in on the process. It was a team note from my boss to let me know that the company’s internet servers would be down until tomorrow’s shift, so work would be done for the day. I instantly thought of one day’s income gone and slight regret for my new splurges. “…but don’t worry team, you’ll still be paid for a full day of work. See you tomorrow morning. Enjoy your day off”, she ended with. Whew. I remembered to breathe again and took my fully free day as a sign from the universe that this new me was already starting off seamlessly.

“Alexa, play Solange”, I called out.

For the next hour, I danced around my room to my feel-good jams, vacuumed my floor, and cleaned up my sanctuary. After cramming a load of laundry into the wash, I prepared an early lunch. Last night's spaghetti and a light salad. "Spaghetti is always better the next day," I said happily aloud to myself while gyrating to the beat of my speakers from afar.

Now that I had finally utilized the forgotten gifts I had rediscovered, revived my bedroom, remembered to eat, and had an impromptu dance party in my kitchen, a simple routine was last on the list. I curled back into bed and picked up my notebook.

Every morning, I'm going to wake up from my proper sleep and stretch. No Instagram scrolls, no emails, no distractions. Soon, I will advance to a 10 min yoga session every morning, but for now, focusing on the attainable was the way to go. I will rise from my new goose-down comforter and stretch every limb to the ceiling. As I reach towards the sun, sprawling out every part of my body, I'll recite just how well my day was going to go. I wouldn't focus on the endless tasks and certainly not about how domineering my CVS long to-do list is. The focus will always be setting the intention of the day. Relying on my strengths as a former theater kid, I improvised a new mantra into my notebook.

“Today is going be a beautiful day. I will be productive. I will be on time. I will be present. I will be kind.”

It seemed a bit simple and maybe even nursery rhyme-like, but simple is more than not at all. Anything too heavy, I would just forget. Baby steps.

Therapy is expensive. When I worked as a model, I was able to afford the $200 chunk per month, but even with the small stash already spent on self-care and groceries, therapy was still too expensive right now. I made that my long-term goal. "Find affordable therapy ASAP", I wrote. For now, I’ll resort to the budget-friendly version: journaling.

And that’s how I implemented the rest of my list. I drafted a solid but very simple routine that prioritized rest, care, movement, and a whole lot of recovery. Swapping out splurges for things I could afford at this moment and making do with what I had was also a focus. Salon visits would now be weekly DIY hair conditioning treatments every Sunday. Online late-night manic shopping sprees would become styling cute and readily available outfits from clothes already in my closet. That way, I can take a break from sweatpants for a while and get dressed as if I could actually own the day. The gym membership fees I stopped accruing were now a few YouTube workouts I saved to a playlist for after work; a little yoga, a little cardio.

Saturday was preserved to earn some extra money as an Uber driver so I could increase my savings to get back to New York by the summertime. Sundays, I would rest and relax; and I wouldn't feel one ounce of guilt for it.

The beautiful thing about life is change. Even if we are reminded during our lowest moments, we still get this undeniable opportunity to try again tomorrow. You can recreate yourself at any point of your choosing, that is a human right.

While every day isn’t ideal, even the bad days are faint reminders that when you have nothing to lose, you have everything to gain.

Reflection taught me that the greatest gift in life is life.

Maybe it took me a while to really feel that spiritual kick of gratitude within my bones and maybe I had to be 29 years old in my mom’s spare bedroom to find the will to start over again. Maybe it took a random faux pas from my desk job to give me the time to actually sit in my funk and feel the weight of the world. If we never feel those moments, what serves as our potential to change? I’m confident that my past doesn’t define my tomorrow’s and that if I needed a few months of seclusion to feel the feels, then so be it.

I found comfort in knowing that if I could muster up enough strength to leave a previous toxic relationship for the sake of mental health and peace; then I certainly had enough manpower to move forward for the best version of myself. My career did a completely different shift, leaving me to live far away from the life and income I used to know, however, I still had consistent income in a safe place until my old life could resurge. For that, I am thankful.

Being gentle with ourselves is the first step to the only thing we can control in life; our reaction. My seclusion was uncomfortable, there was no doubt in that, but it may have been the most metamorphic lesson I had surrendered to in almost 30 years. After all, diamonds are made from applying pressure.

In a world full of convenience and perfection, healing is one of those things that doesn't come with a deadline. Yes, life is full of surprises, detours, and do-overs. And yes, plans don't always go accordingly. We can plan for the life we foresee, meticulously and precisely, but we can't control how this life will go. You can sink when the waves become riptides, but you can also slowly and surely push yourself to shore.

I'll gladly be a witness to that.

I closed my notebook and set it bedside, wedged neatly next to my TV remote in near view. I wiggled into my sneakers, grabbed my purse, coat, and keys, then made a theatrical exit to the bedroom door. My long-lost whimsical nature revisiting was a sign that my confidence was also returning.

First stop, deposit my rainy-day funds. Second stop, to Walmart to grab my order. And for the grand finale, back home to begin the next chapter: me.

Alexis Henry, part-time writer, and full-time creator.

LEXHENRY.COM