Black Friday Made Soft
Day 5 — November 28, 2025
Today is Black Friday, which means the entire world is vibrating like an overstimulated ferret screaming “SALE! BUY! CONSUME!”
Meanwhile, I woke up with a very different internal memo: Softness only.
No chaos. No crowds. No being hunted down by fluorescent lighting in a department store like I owe it money.
Past-me would’ve tried to rally. She would’ve been the girl with a latte in one hand, a list of must haves in the other, adrenaline in her eyes, and ten shopping bags threatening to dislocate her shoulder.
Present-me? Present-me shuffled to the kitchen like a Victorian ghost, whispered to Roger that we are boycotting capitalism today, and wrapped myself in a blanket like a buttery, emotionally-unstable croissant.
I didn’t even pretend I might leave the house.
And honestly? Huge win.
One of those quiet victories you don’t brag about but absolutely should. Instead of deal-hunting, I did something far scarier: I slowed down enough to actually notice myself.
My mind is still foggy from the week. Like I’m running emotional software updates in the background. My heart is still trying to remember its own rhythm. My nervous system is buffering so hard I’m surprised there isn’t a spinning wheel over my head.
So I let myself be exactly where I am. Not ahead, not behind. Just here. This moment. This breath. This oddly comforting level of underachievement.
Did I scroll through a few sales? Please. I’m not a saint. But instead of impulse buying things that would arrive late and disappoint me on principle, I made a tiny list of things I genuinely want for this next version of my life.
Not a wishlist. A vision list.
A wishlist is “maybe someday.” A vision list is “when I’m ready.”
And that shift alone made everything feel intentional. Like my life is slowly arranging itself into something I actually want to live in.
Black Friday usually comes with pressure. Buy more, save more, rush more, accumulate more, drown out the void with expedited shipping.
But today? Mine was quiet. Mine was mine.
I showered. I put on mascara even though no one would see me. Except my reflection, who frankly deserved a little effort. I started to get a load of laundry together and, in true me fashion, absolutely did not finish it.
and yes, I ate leftover pie for breakfast without a shred of guilt because I, too, am a holiday icon.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t cinematic. It wasn’t anything you could post on Instagram with a sparkle filter. But it was mine.
Healing looks like this sometimes. Not dramatic breakthroughs, not phoenix-rising montages, just tiny, unremarkable moments where you choose softness over survival mode.
It didn’t feel like the day after Thanksgiving this year. But it did feel like a reset. A tiny whisper of normalcy. A reminder that even in the ruins of the last two years, I still know how to build a day that feels like me.
And maybe quietly, slowly, without applause that’s how you begin to get your life back. One gentle, deeply unremarkable morning at a time.
And maybe quietly, slowly, without applause, that’s how you begin to get your life back. One gentle, deeply unremarkable morning at a time. Because underneath the softness of today, there was something else moving.
Something subtle. Something steady.
A reminder that healing doesn’t always announce itself with thunder. Sometimes it shows up disguised as leftover pie and a half-finished laundry cycle.
The truth is, I’m learning how to choose myself in the smallest possible ways and those ways are adding up. The quiet decisions. The soft refusals. The stillness I never gave myself permission to have.
And today? Today was a kind of reclamation.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just real, honest, and necessary.
Chaos in one hand.
Grace in the other.
And me rebuilding a life in the softest way I know how.
