It’s a Tuesday. Nothing happened. Nobody called, nothing broke, nobody is in the ER (thank G-d). And I’m lying in bed with that familiar weight on my chest, doing the math on how many things I could cancel today without anyone noticing.

The answer, by the way, is zero. Because the kids need breakfast. Because I made plans and have commitments. Because I have that doctor’s appointment I’ve been putting off for months, and today I’m finally going. Because the emails won’t answer themselves. Because Lucy heard me sit up in bed and is now staring at me like I personally invented her dog food and then hid it.

So I get up. Not gracefully (and definitely not without bags under my eyes. Fun fact, I love under-eye patches. HMU if you want my recommendations because I have tried.them.all!). Not with a gratitude list (though, real talk, I’m working on that one, more on that below). I just press on and get up out of bed. Cozy, cozy bed.

That is the everyday. And honestly? It’s the part nobody writes about, because there’s no plot.

The valleys get the season finale. The Tuesdays get the filler episodes.

If you read part two, you know the valleys were the telenovela. The dramatic entrances, the very crystal-clear before and after, the episode everyone talks about the next morning.

The everyday is more like a show that’s been on for nineteen seasons. Same set. Same characters. Same guy delivering the same punchline the studio audience always laughs at (wait… do they even still have studio audiences?). Anyway, it’s the same storyline you’ve seen a hundred times, and somehow it still gets you. The anxiety and depression don’t always show up with a big entrance anymore. They just… sit down next to me while I’m making coffee and start listing things. Did I answer that email? Is my daughter okay? Is my son okay? Am I okay? Why am I like this?

So, here we go again… amiright?

I’ve had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened. – Often credited to Mark Twain

Here’s the part I’m a little embarrassed to admit.

I know the tools. I KNOW them. Like, really know them. I’ve been in therapy, on and off and on again, since I was a teenager. I remember meeting with a new therapist after the ER incident in college and explaining something to her about setting boundaries, and the look on her face! Oh man. She lit up! She was like, “Yes! That is right! You’ve been in therapy before!” Oftentimes, I can hear various therapists’ voices in my head telling me exactly what to do when the spiral starts or a funk is brewing. Name it. Breathe. Take a beat. Check the story I’m telling myself against what’s actually true. Take time for yourself.

And some days I hear them loud and clear… and I let myself fall a little deeper into the rabbit hole anyway.

Why? I mean, I guess in all honesty, because spiraling is familiar. It’s that old jacket that doesn’t really match your style anymore, but you keep wearing it because it’s what you’ve always grabbed. The tool is the new jacket, the one that fits you so much better, but it still feels like it belongs to someone else.

Did you know, though, that knowing the tool and using the tool are two completely different things? (Insert generic epiphany here!) Remember what I said in part two? Nothing changes until the behavior changes. Well, guess where the behavior lives? That’s right! The everyday. Not in the big dramatic moments. On the random Tuesday, at the kitchen counter, with a lunchbox in one hand and a spiral in the other.

So what does “not letting it run the show” actually look like?

I used to think it meant these mental health struggles would just disappear. Like one day I’d wake up and they’d just… be gone. Bags packed, moved to Boca, no forwarding address.

Hey, reader! Guess what. They did not move to Boca.

What it looks like for me now is this: the anxiety (and the depression, when it decides to visit) gets to come along for the ride. It does not get the keys. It does not get to sit shotgun. Its place is in the trunk, where it can complain about the music all it wants. I’m the one driving.

And here’s what driving actually looks like, day to day. It’s not glamorous, ok? But it works for me, and maybe some of it will work for you, too.

• I meditate twice a day. Twenty minutes in the morning, twenty in the late afternoon. Now, I’ll be honest, sometimes it’s only once a day, but the morning one is non-negotiable. Not because I’ve reached enlightenment (still waiting on that delivery) but because it’s what keeps the floor under me. Plus, when I tell my kids I’m going to meditate, my son automatically strikes a zen “om” pose; half poking fun at me, half understanding that he cannot interrupt me for 20 minutes.
• I flip it to gratitude. Hear me out, ok? This one is new for me, but for every negative, I try to name a few positives. Let’s say I miss one of my kids’ doctor’s appointments because I never put it in my calendar (let’s also say this literally just happened last week). I get charged the no-show fee, which is super annoying, and I could have put that money to better use (like my daughter’s Dunkin’ addiction). So yes, it really sucks. But if I reframe it into gratitude… it might look something like this: how grateful I am that we live somewhere doctors like this are available and accessible. How grateful I am to be able to support my children and the needs they have. How grateful I am that losing that fee doesn’t make or break us.
• I give the hard feelings a container. When the pull hits, the one that says “just disappear for a while,” I stopped trying to argue with it. I try to give it a timer instead. A forty-five-minute nap. A book. Closing my eyes and letting the minutes be whatever they need to be. Then the timer goes off and I get back up. Am I fixed? Not always. But does a recharge help the soul? Yes.
• I reach instead of going quiet. Full disclosure, I’m still working on this one. When I feel myself sliding toward the hole, I shoot a text to one of the couple of supports I have, or I mention it to my husband. I tell one of them before I climb into the hole and shut the door. Old me went quiet (drastically). New me sends the text. (Sometimes the text is just “ugh.” That counts.)
• I keep the boring supports boring. My medication. My therapist a couple times a month. My coach, who keeps me honest about work, life, and family (though she is not boring!). My workouts. None of it is exciting. All of it is load-bearing. And all of it is WORK. 
• I aim for “slightly better than my instinct.” Not perfect. Not healed. Not zen. Just a little better than whatever my gut wanted to do. Calmer and immediate instead of reactive and immediate. That might be the whole game right now, and I’m making my peace with that.

And some days, it still wins.

I’d be lying if I told you every Tuesday ends with me in the driver’s seat. Some days the anxiety grabs the wheel for a few hours. Some days I skip the afternoon meditation. Some days I don’t send the text and I go quiet anyway, and I’m short with my kids, and I go to bed feeling like I failed a test nobody else even knew I was taking.

Anyone who experiences this wishes it was easier.

But here’s what’s different from sixteen-year-old me and college me: I don’t treat a bad day like proof that nothing’s working anymore. A bad day is just a bad day. Tomorrow I get up and try again. Maybe not as gracefully as I’d like, but I do it.

So, is this the end of the series?

I mean, I guess it’s the end of the three parts I planned. But I’m not going to pretend this wraps up with a bow, because it doesn’t. This isn’t an “and then I was fixed” story. It’s an “and then I kept going” story. The messy middle doesn’t have a finish line. The messy middle is full of us navigating, well, the messy middle… on any given Tuesday.

And that’s why I created the It Girl Wellness Social Club. For the times you want a place where you don’t feel alone. For the times you want to grab a cozy sweatshirt and a mug of your favorite tea and just be in your feelings. For the times you want to hear someone else’s Tuesday, especially the ones so ridiculous they sound made up. (I have a bunch of those, including but not limited to “fruitgate,” “periodgate,” and “footballgate.” Stories for another day.)

Come tell me: what does your random Tuesday look like? What’s the one tool you KNOW works and still don’t always reach for? No judgment here, ok? That’s what the Social Club is for.

If you’re struggling right now, you don’t have to wait for a valley to reach out. In the US, you can call or text 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline) anytime. Outside the US, findahelpline.com lists local options.