With her stunning piece, “Breathe,” Katherine was the second place winner in the 2015 Andre Sobel Award. Remember her wisdom when you are faced with what appears to be a giant problem. 

I’m writing you this letter because I know you’re a doer. You don’t like sitting around, waiting for something to happen. You don’t like asking for help, even when you need it. And you do not like feeling helpless. This is not a letter of advice, not really. This is a way to help you, when faced with what might appear to be a giant problem, turn it into a puzzle you can solve with a cool head.

Inhale. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Become aware of every part of your body.

What hurts? What doesn’t? Take another deep breath. Focus on your mind. Acknowledge your problems: What is troubling you right at this moment? What is making you stressed at this moment? Now acknowledge the good: What are you thankful for in this moment? Take one more deep breath and open your eyes.

All matter is infinitely divisible into parts. If you take a substance and break it and tear it apart over and over you still have more things to divide. So sometimes, that’s how you need to solve a problem. Break it down until it’s small enough to deal with, and then you move on.

It’s easy to breathe.

There will be people around who will say ambiguous things like “you just need to fight” or “you’re doing such a good job.” But they’re not talking to you, not really. They think that ambiguity can benefit you in the long run, that cut-and-pasted trademarked words of inspiration are helpful. They don’t know that sickness isn’t cured by hope, they don’t know that survival doesn’t always mean holding up a sign that says “I beat it,” they don’t know that living is hard, especially when that life is in jeopardy.

Just breathe.

Make every single choice you make a step towards the finish line.

Step one: breathe in and out. Step two: open your eyes. Step three: touch my finger, touch your nose. Step four: drink a sip of water. Step five: sit up. Step seven: take your pills, swallow. Step eight: rest. Step nine: feet off the bed. Step ten: take a step. End of day one. Day two: begin again.

Did you remember to breathe?

The only person who can save you, in the end, is yourself. Doctors will fix your body and stitch it up, then save you from physical pain. Your family will give you a place to rest, tell you they love you and are proud of your progress, and comfort you with kisses and loving arms. Friends will make you laugh, tell stories and share information you missed, and act as if nothing ever happened. This will help, but do not take it for granted. These are gifts given by those who care. It is up to you to glue them all together and make yourself whole again.

Breathe, rest, cry, shout, talk, laugh. Push out all the negative energy you possibly can, and either turn it into positive energy or come to terms with its existence. Being whole doesn’t mean being flawless. Even superheroes have shortcomings.

Do not focus on being “normal” or “perfect,” focus on becoming you again.

Stop, take a moment to breathe.

I’m writing this letter to you so that you won’t waste away, or become a romanticized version of an illness that a writer can sell to teenage girls as a tragic love story. I’m trying to tell you that you are more than the illness you have. Don’t you dare let it consume you!

Don’t let that unseen foe build itself up in waves until it comes crashing down on you. With every breath you take, make that wave smaller until it’s something you can deal with.  Step by step, day by day, overcome each problem as it comes to you, even if that means just getting through the day.

Start with an intake of air.

Breathe.