I don’t always feel, let alone know, that I am better than I was yesterday. Some days, sure. But on other days maybe just different. Or there are dark days where I’m sure that it’s worse and I’m sinking. Spiraling. But ultimately, at the heart of it. At the cold hard bottom of the darkest hole in my heart, I know that I am trying. I am always trying to be my best, most compassionate, honest, kind, thoughtful self. And I am not always successful. Sometimes I’m whiny and angry and selfish and lazy and sad. But I am trying, I do try, the best that I can on any given day. And that is something I feel confident about. That is something strong and sturdy that I can lean on when my legs are wobbly underneath the weight of my emotional being. That’s the kind of confidence I have; not that I am always better, but knowing that I’m always striving, and that that is enough. Knowing that I am enough.