Okay.
Then ten minutes is all we're dealing with.
Not tonight.
Not tomorrow.
Not the problem.
Not your entire life.
Ten minutes.
Minute 1
Put down anything you don't need to be holding.
Sit somewhere reasonably safe and comfortable.
Let your shoulders drop.
You have arrived.
Minute 2
Take a sip of something if you have it nearby.
Water is fine.
Anything non-alcoholic that feels manageable is fine.
One sip.
Minute 3
Look around.
Name three things you see.
No meaning required.
Chair.
Door.
Sock.
Congratulations to the sock on its unexpected mental-health cameo.
Minute 4
Notice where your body is supported.
Feet on floor.
Back against chair.
Head against pillow.
Let something else hold your weight for a minute.
Minute 5
Ask:
What hurts most right now?
You don't have to fix it.
Just name it.
Even:
“I don't know.”
counts.
Minute 6
Ask:
What do I need for the next hour?
Not life.
One hour.
Quiet?
Company?
Food?
Sleep?
A shower?
To cry?
To stop answering messages?
Minute 7
Do one tiny thing toward that need.
Send the message.
Get the water.
Close the app.
Turn down the light.
Find the blanket.
Minute 8
No assignment.
Really.
Sit here.
You have spent enough of your life being productive.
Minute 9
Choose what happens when these ten minutes end.
Something small.
I will lie down.
I will eat something.
I will call someone.
I will take a shower.
I will watch something familiar.
I will ask for help.
Minute 10
You're here.
Whatever brought you to this page may not be fixed.
That wasn't the promise.
The promise was smaller:
we were going to get through the next ten minutes.
And we did.
If you need another ten, you are allowed another ten.
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