Day 19:

Still here. Still writing. Even in my bathrobe.

Today was another bare minimum day.

And honestly? I’m starting to get tired of that being the answer.

If this were a movie, today would be the quiet scene where the main character eats toast over the sink and still somehow moves the plot forward. No montage, no glitter—just a human who didn’t ghost her own life. The credits wouldn’t roll, but the chapter would turn.

I know I’ve been telling myself that this challenge is about building something maintainable. And I still believe that. Showing up at 1% is better than disappearing at 0%. But at the same time, I’m craving the feeling of winning. Of forward motion. Of momentum that feels less like “I stayed alive” and more like “I crushed it.”

And here’s the twist: I am showing up. I am doing the work. But it’s hard to feel the success when the results still feel invisible.

Bare minimum might not trend, but it still counts as plot development.

Lately I’ve been rethinking what my “ideal day” actually looks like. I used to think it had to be this polished, fully dressed version of myself. Cute outfit, makeup done, everything together. And sometimes that is the version that gives me a boost. But other days? My bathrobe has been the only thing that made the rest of the day possible. Sometimes I get fully dressed and still end up in the bathrobe anyway. It’s becoming my comfort armor.

Maybe the robe isn’t a setback… maybe it’s just my version of business casual. At this point, it deserves its own credits roll. It’s the co-star I didn’t audition for, but somehow it keeps stealing scenes.

Maybe that’s the real work here—not just building an ideal day, but allowing it to evolve. Letting it be real. Letting it include the robe.

At this point, my bathrobe deserves its own credits roll.

The other thing I didn’t expect? How much social media has become the litmus test for whether I lived out the day I wanted. That wasn’t the plan. But I don’t know… maybe that’s okay too.

Turns out the algorithm doesn’t care what I’m wearing—robe or red lipstick, it counts the same. The only requirement is that I show up. And honestly, showing up feels louder than any outfit I own.

Maybe part of my ideal rhythm does include writing something true and having it land in someone else’s heart. Maybe I do want a little back-and-forth with the world. I know for sure that I love writing—these past 19 days have made that loud and clear.

The funny thing about writing is that it keeps receipts. Even when the day feels like mush, the sentences line up like tiny soldiers and prove I didn’t fold. That matters to me more than a highlight reel.

So I’ll keep listening. Keep writing. Keep adjusting.

Consistency doesn’t always look cinematic. Sometimes it looks like fuzzy sleeves, lukewarm coffee, and five sentences that didn’t exist this morning. Not glamorous—but still proof I’m moving.

I keep waiting for the montage moment. Instead I’ve got robe re-runs — and maybe that’s okay.

I want to feel the success soon—not just see it mentally. Not just measure it in streaks or posts or checklists. I want it to settle into my bones. To hit my soul.

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