Almost a year ago, I lost my federal career.
Not just a job — the whole structure of my life. The steady paycheck. The affordable healthcare. The sense of purpose that comes from showing up somewhere every day and knowing you matter. The community of people who knew your name. Gone. All of it, almost overnight.
I won't pretend I handled it well. I didn't. My mental health fell apart in ways I hadn't experienced since my darkest years. I increased my antidepressant. I booked extra therapy sessions. I journaled obsessively and drew my feelings in Procreate at 2 am because it was the only thing that made any of it make sense.
I applied to hundreds of jobs and got rejection after rejection. I stopped eating regularly. My hygiene slipped. I spiraled over bills. I worried constantly that I was becoming a financial burden to my fiancé — now husband — who was holding us both together while I could barely hold myself.
Some days I started wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next morning.
I'm telling you this because Self-Care Shirts didn't exist yet. And in that season, there was so much I needed to hear that nobody was saying out loud — not on a card, not in a text, not in anything I could hold or wear or stick somewhere I'd see it on the hard days.
So I drew it. And eventually, I put it on shirts.
These are the mental health gifts I wish someone had given me when I was at my lowest. Not because they would have fixed anything. But because feeling seen — truly, specifically seen — is one of the most powerful things another person can offer when you're struggling.
Our Gifts for Someone in Recovery collection was designed for exactly this — things that say I see you without making it weird. The Not Broken Shirt is the one I wish someone had handed me.
For the Days You Can't Be Kind to Yourself
Choose Compassion (Especially for You)
I was so hard on myself during that time. Every rejection felt like proof of something. Every bad day felt like failure. I needed someone to remind me that compassion wasn't just something I owed other people — it was something I owed myself too. Especially on the days I least deserved it. Which were also the days I most needed it.
My hydration fell by the wayside. My eating. My basic hygiene. I was so focused on surviving that I stopped doing the small things that make survival feel worth it. I needed someone to tell me that taking care of myself wasn't indulgent — it was necessary. It still is.
For the Days You Feel Like a Burden
This one came directly from that season. I watched Eric carry so much while I was drowning, and the guilt of it was its own kind of weight. I needed this phrase in a way I can't fully explain. Not as reassurance. As permission. Permission to stop shrinking myself to avoid taking up his resources, his energy, his worry.
From childhood trauma to job loss to watching someone you love support you financially — there is a kind of person who spends their whole life apologizing for existing. I was that person. I needed someone to hand me this phrase and mean it.
For the Days It's Hard to Believe It Gets Better
The permission to just be in it. Not performing fine. Not reassuring everyone around you that you'll be okay soon. Just — this is hard, and that's allowed, and I don't have to have it together right now.
I needed hope that was honest. Not toxic positivity. Not "everything happens for a reason." Just — this won't always feel like this. The storm is real. And it will pass.
Like a Phoenix From the Ashes, She Rose
For the moments when survival itself feels like an act of defiance. When getting out of bed is the bravest thing you've done all week. This one is for the rebuild. It's for after.
For the Days You Need Someone to See You
Three words. Endlessly hard to believe when your inbox is full of rejection emails and your bank account is shrinking and you feel like you've failed at everything. I drew this one for myself first. I still need it.
The World Is a Better Place With You In It
Some days I started wishing I wouldn't wake up. I'm saying that plainly because I think a lot of people reading this know exactly what that feels like, and they deserve to see it said out loud. This shirt exists because I needed someone to tell me this. If someone in your life is in that place — give them this. Mean it.
For the Days You Need to Laugh a Little
Modeled after the Got Milk? campaign. Darkly funny. 100% mine. Because at some point in the healing process, you laugh — not because it stops hurting, but because humor is how some of us survive.
Everything Is Fine (Dumpster Fire)
For the spiraling days. The bill-fear days. The "I have no idea how any of this is going to work out" days. Sometimes the only honest thing to say is: it is most certainly not fine. And at least we can laugh about it.
For the Days You Need a Small Reminder
Not every gift needs to be a grand gesture. Sometimes a sticker is enough — something small and specific that says I was thinking about you, and I know what you're going through.
Feel Your Feelings Sticker — for the one who suppresses everything to avoid being a burden.
Breathe, Darling Sticker — for the one who's overwhelmed and needs a single, simple instruction.
You're Not in Trouble and No One Is Mad at You Sticker — for the one with CPTSD who spends their life bracing for impact.
Believe in Yourself Sticker — for the one getting rejected over and over and still showing up.
Starting at $4.99 — because feeling seen doesn't have to be expensive.
Here's what I know now, almost a year out from the lowest point I've experienced as an adult: I still haven't fully recovered. And that's okay.
What helped most wasn't the advice. It wasn't the "everything happens for a reason" or the "you'll land on your feet." It was the moments when someone — or something — reflected back to me exactly what I was feeling and said: I see you. You're not alone. This is real, and you're allowed to be in it.
That's what a good mental health gift does. It doesn't fix anything. It just makes the person feel less alone in the middle of it.
That's why Self-Care Shirts exists.
👉 Shop mental health gifts at Self-Care Shirts →
10% of proceeds donated to 988 and The Trevor Project.
For the therapy-goers doing the work, our Gifts for Therapy-Goers collection has designs that meet them where they are. The You Are Enough Hoodie is a particular favorite — something soft to wear on the hard days.
