What to do when nothing feels like it’s helping
There are times when the things that are supposed to help just don’t.
One of the most challenging things about healing is that it’s different from person to person. And even with the same person, what helps us heal can change from moment to moment.
I am a gratitude list stan. When I’m feeling down, 99% of the time, tapping into gratitude helps me shake off whatever tough thing I’m going through. But the truth is, despite how much I believe in gratitude as a comforting balm to despair and anxiety, it’s never going to be 100% effective. Why? Because, well, nothing ever is.
There have been moments where I’ve been so discouraged, so hopeless, and so stuck that I didn’t have it in me to put pen to paper and write down what I’m thankful for. The really bad breakup. The horrible boss. The day I realized the thing I had dreamed about my entire life wasn’t going to happen.
We’re told that gratitude makes us happier in moments of hardship. But in my lowest lows, the practice I normally turn to for comfort felt like just another thing I wasn’t doing “right.”
And it’s not just gratitude. Sometimes none of the usual tools like journaling, meditation, walks, deep breathing, even venting to a friend feel like they’re doing anything. When that happens, it’s easy to spiral into the belief that something is wrong with you.
But hear me on this:
You’re not broken. You’re not failing. You’re just in a moment where your nervous system, your heart, or your soul needs something different.
So what do you do when nothing is working?
Here are five deeper, more expansive ways to care for yourself when even the best tools fall flat:
1. Validate what you’re feeling—without needing to fix it
Sometimes, the healing starts not with action but with permission.
Permission to feel messy. To feel disappointed. To not have it together.
We live in a culture that rushes to fix pain. That offers silver linings and quick quotes and “look on the bright side” advice before we’ve even had time to name what’s happening. But emotional honesty isn’t a problem to solve—it’s a truth to witness.
Try this: When you feel overwhelmed, instead of asking “How do I get rid of this?” ask, “Can I let this be here for now?”
Tell yourself:
“This is a lot. And I understand why I feel this way.”
“I’m allowed to be in this without knowing how to change it.”
“This doesn’t make me weak. It makes me real.”
You don’t have to feel better to deserve care.
2. Replace “helpful” with “honest”
There’s a weird pressure in the wellness world to always be making progress. Always growing. Always healing. But some days, the most healing thing you can do is just tell the truth.
You don’t have to be insightful, grateful, or poetic. You don’t have to force perspective or squeeze meaning out of your pain. You just have to be real.
Write down exactly how you feel—unfiltered, unedited, unrehearsed. Say it out loud if writing feels like too much. Even just a few words can open the pressure valve.
“I’m tired of pretending.”
“I don’t know what I need.”
“I’m scared that nothing will change.”
Being honest with yourself doesn’t fix everything. But it gives you somewhere solid to stand.
3. Let the bare minimum be enough
When nothing is helping, it’s tempting to double down. To try harder. To reach for every tool in the emotional toolbox. But there are seasons when your capacity is so low that doing less is the most compassionate choice you can make.
And that’s not lazy. That’s not giving up. That’s wisdom.
Let today be simple. Let it be slow. Let it be quiet.
You don’t have to clean the whole kitchen. Just wash a single cup.
You don’t have to take a long walk. Just open the window and feel some air on your face.
You don’t have to talk to anyone. Just send a single “thinking of you” emoji if you want to feel some thread of connection.
It’s okay to stop pushing and just get through the day. That counts too.
4. Let yourself be held—by something, anything
When you’re in pain, you don’t need a five-step plan. You need softness. You need comfort. You need something—anything—that helps you feel less alone inside your body.
This doesn’t always mean reaching out to another person. Sometimes you can let life hold you in quieter ways.
Let a piece of music wrap around you.
Let the rhythm of your pet’s breathing anchor you.
Let the texture of a cozy blanket or hoodie soothe your nervous system.
Let yourself cry into a hot shower and call that prayer.
Support doesn’t have to be loud or obvious to be real.
5. Remember that this moment isn’t forever
Hopelessness convinces us that the way things feel right now is the way they’ll always feel. That because nothing’s working today, nothing ever will. But hopelessness is a liar. It’s a fog, not a fact.
You don’t have to force yourself to be optimistic. But can you allow for the possibility that things might shift?
Because they will. They always do.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.
But your energy will return. Your clarity will rise again. What’s helpful will eventually start to feel helpful again—or you’ll discover something new that meets you exactly where you are.
And in the meantime? You are still worthy. Still lovable. Still doing your best.
This moment is not your whole story.
Reflection questions
If nothing feels helpful right now, you don’t need answers. But if you want to stay with yourself in a gentle, non-judgmental way, here are a few questions to sit with:
What’s one thing I wish someone would say to me right now?
Is there something I can let go of trying to do or fix today?
What’s one way I can comfort myself—without needing it to “work”?
You are not failing at healing just because you feel stuck. This moment doesn’t define your worth. You are still becoming—quietly, slowly, in ways you can’t always see. Even now, something within you is holding on. Choosing to stay. Choosing to keep going.
That is strength.
So please, be gentle with yourself. Rest if you need to. Cry if you need to. Start again tomorrow if today is too much.
There is no wrong way to move through this.
You’re doing better than you think. And you are never, ever alone.
If this resonated, I hope you’ll come back to it on the hard days. Not as a fix—but as a reminder: you don’t have to be “okay” to be worthy of gentleness, grace, and rest.
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