Hope, the quiet rebel
And a mental tool to never lose it.
When you’re deep in the trenches, buried in silence, and swallowed by the dark…there comes a moment when the weight of your own thoughts becomes too loud to bear.
It’s the kind of darkness where no sunlight trickles in.
Where time folds in on itself.
Where loneliness doesn’t feel like a phase—It feels like the rest of your life.
You start to believe that this is it..
That the best of life has passed.
That you’ll never laugh from your gut again.
That maybe you’re not meant to be saved.
And it’s true—no one’s coming. Your savior must be you.
You need to summon a flicker of strength.
Just like you did when you ran through that final mile, even after your legs gave up.
Just like you pushed through the last press in the gym when you thought there was nothing left in you.
Just like you found the courage to say you were sorry to the one you hurt—even though you were more hurt.
That kind of strength. You need that now—to call upon something greater.
Hope.
When you do summon it...
Hope won’t knock gently. It will crash through stone. It will spill gold into your grief.
It doesn’t arrive as a whisper. It comes as a rebel. Undaunted, unapologetic.
Hope is not naive.
Hope is not weak.
Hope is not wishful thinking.
Hope is radical.
It’s what turns a scar into a story worth telling.
It’s what lets you see beauty in the broken.
It’s what helps you keep walking—not because the path is clear, but because your heart still beats.
Hope is not for cynics.
Cynics will roll their eyes.
They’ll scoff and say, “Be realistic.”
They’ll mock you for expecting kindness, for holding on to a vision, for not giving up when everything says you should.
They call it wisdom—but it’s just fear pretending to be smart.
Cynics expect the worst in people—and they usually find it.
They live small lives, hiding behind sarcasm and detachment.
Hope is for the bold ones.
A hopeful person expects the best in others—and often receives it.
A hopeful person gets knocked down, and rises—hearts bruised but still open.
A hopeful person knows heartbreak, and still chooses to care.
A hopeful person is neither naïve or weak. Nor a fool.
A hopeful person is one who keeps the world running.
A hopeful person is the last one standing.
So don’t give up on hope.
Even if you do, don’t fret. Hope doesn’t give up on you. It might hide. It might flicker, but it never dies. It will find its way back to you. Sometimes, in the form of a memory, a phrase, or a sunrise.
So how to never lose hope?
And have it on you side at every sunrise?
Here’s one mental tool you can employ.
It’s called the Perfect Day Exercise, originally shared by coach and author Martha Beck.
It’s not about manifesting yachts or mountain retreats. Or about tricking your mind into blind positivity.
It’s a simple, grounded way to remind yourself: a better day is possible.
Here’s how to try it:
Find stillness.
Make sure you're not running on fumes. This exercise works best when you're rested—at least enough to not feel like you're dragging your body behind your thoughts.
Sit or lie down. Close your eyes if that helps you focus.
Begin with waking up.
Imagine yourself waking up—not on a fantasy island, but in a version of your real life that feels safe, full, and whole.
How do you feel as you open your eyes? Calm? Light? Well-rested?
What’s the first sound you hear? The rustle of trees? Someone’s voice you love?
Engage your senses.
What does the air feel like on your skin? Is there a smell in the room?
What textures surround you—linen sheets, warm sunlight, a sleepy pet at your feet?
You’re not forcing a dream. You’re observing what a deeply right day might feel like in your bones.
Let it unfold.
Let the day play out gently. Don’t push it. Don’t narrate it. Just let it emerge.
You might see yourself walking somewhere meaningful.
Doing work that fulfills you.
Spending time with people who make your shoulders drop and your heart ease.
Ending the day not in triumph, but in quiet contentment.
Repeat as often as needed.
This isn’t a one-time thing. And it’s not magic.
But it’s remarkable how often—when done with honesty and openness—this imagined day becomes a map.
Not to perfection, but to possibility.
Here’s to keeping the hope alive. ❤️
Not fantasy. Not denial.
Just a gentle, courageous reminder: something better can exist.
And you have what it takes to walk toward it.