I need a bit of a pep talk today, so I thought I’d put it in print in case someone else needs it, too.

There are moments in a life with depression that can feel like what I imagine it felt like to wake up on that first Good Friday. All hope is lost. The worst has happened. Nothing will ever be good again. My first instinct is to lie down, which leads to ruminating, followed by the very real feelings that the darkness will win. But, like the cycle of the church year, I’ve been through this before. Countless times. And I know if I can just make it through the next 40 minutes or 40 hours or, sometimes, 40 days, there will be a morning when the stone is rolled away and there’s good news for me again.

So, when I woke today with that familiar heaviness in my chest, I acknowledged it, gave it only a little of my time, then decided to focus on what’s next instead of what’s now. After all, Easter is coming.

Today I took the snowflakes off my mantel and replaced them with signs of Easter and spring, color and change. Then I tucked a few wooden eggs in the most frequently visited corners of my house – on my dresser I’ll see one when I’m getting ready each morning; in the bathroom one will greet me when I brush my teeth; in the kitchen there’ll be a reminder when I’m washing dishes. Because no matter how many Easter mornings I have, Good Fridays come like clockwork, too. Now I have reminders these feelings aren’t the end – they’re only part of my story.