emotional support objects i swear by

a guide to the physical things that hold me when i forget how to hold myself

i have always been the kind of person who assigns personality traits to objects. the kind who keeps a chipped mug because it reminds me of a good week. the kind who feels emotionally attached to a sweatshirt because it smells like an old version of myself. the kind who packs five different notebooks for a three-day trip just in case my mood shifts and i need to write like someone else. people say it’s materialistic. i think it’s just one of the only ways to feel grounded in a world that keeps changing faster than you can process.

when i’m overwhelmed — which is often — i reach for something small, tactile, familiar. i’ve realized that no amount of self-help books or breathing exercises will work unless i can find a way to feel safe in my body. and sometimes, the only way to do that is through something external. something warm. something that smells like me. something that’s been through stuff with me. this isn’t about retail therapy or owning more. it’s about the stuff that sticks. the stuff you touch when you’re spiraling. the stuff that reminds you you’re not just a floating thought, but a person with a history, a home, a heartbeat.

so here’s a list of emotional support objects i swear by — not because they fix me, but because they remind me i don’t need to be fixed to be held.

1. the expensive candle i never light because the idea of it soothes me

it sits on my shelf like an aesthetic emergency contact. i bought it during a bad week to feel something. and now just seeing it reminds me that i am the kind of person who buys herself small luxuries in moments of despair. it’s proof of self-preservation — in soy wax form.

2. the ugly home slippers that make me feel like i own property

they’re falling apart. they were never cute. but when i wear them, i feel like i live in a Nancy Meyers kitchen and have opinions about curtain rods. they click-clack across the floor like i’ve got errands in a house that has hallways. delusion? yes. healing? also yes.

3. a messy stack of magazines that make me believe in the future

sometimes i just need a tactile reminder that beauty still exists — in layout design, in editorials, in scent strips i never use. flipping through a magazine with no agenda feels like mental exfoliation. like clearing the digital gunk off my brain.

4. a perfume sample i keep in my wallet like a talisman

it’s barely enough for two spritzes. but that’s not the point. the point is that it lives there quietly, waiting for a day when i’ll need to romanticize something. a commute. a difficult conversation. a tuesday that feels like soup. it’s my secret weapon — scent as armor.

5. a white noise machine that drowns out my emotional overthinking

this isn’t glamorous. it’s not aesthetic. in fact, its borrowed from my toddler’s night time routine. but it works. the machine hums in the background like an emotional support soundtrack — steady, consistent, unaffected by my mood swings. it’s what i turn on when the silence becomes too loud, when my mind starts rehashing every text i sent in 2016, when the world outside feels just a little too sharp around the edges. it makes me feel like i'm living inside a soft blanket — and sometimes that’s the only way i can sleep.