Best 155 quotes in «coping quotes» category

If you can’t fix what’s wrong, you focus on what you can make right.

If you tell someone you have depression, they will often say, "Oh, I've been depressed before, too." The difference lies between being depressed and having depression. Everyone's been depressed at one time or another, but these are far from being the same things. One is a passing mood. The other is a chronic illness that does not come and go, ebb and flow, is here one day and gone the next. The difference between being depressed and having depression is that one is a mood and the other is an illness. One is a momentary bout of melancholy. The other is a debilitating condition that requires medical treatment. Would you feel better about having a cancerous lesion if I likened it to the rash I had last week? The difference between being depressed and having depression is the difference between a mood that will soon pass, and a serious illness that disrupts your ability to function and will take years to treat. The difference between being depressed and having depression is the difference between Cleveland and Bangkok, or your frying pan and the surface of the sun. So, no, we (depressives) do not feel better when you tell us about your rash. We'll do our best to be polite about it, but no, it really doesn't help at all.

I narrate the story but he dies off-stage between commercials. A washing machine ad later, we are dressed in our funereal best. We sniffle and indulge in product placement for Kleenex. The credits roll.

In order to cope with death, you need the correct punctuation. Not a final period, not a comma as on Aleya, but a chance to fill in the blank--- life, 'dot dot dot'.

If you think of the moon as already used, it’s not as difficult to take in, because then it’s just like you, Traveled the world like you, Seen the globe like you, But, it’s still bright.

I know his death could have been avoided with a doctor who was really on top of it. He had so much life in him. It was wrong. I played my way through that first show and did "Old Man" for Ben (Keith) at the end. I looked over to my right and he was out there somewhere, but not next to me anymore.

Isolation is not a healthy ‘coping’ method, it’s like quarantining yourself in a gas chamber!

I'm psychologically equipped for this.

Memories don't die, they become shelved in the recesses of one's mind, resurfacing when the triggers of life reignite them, lighting up the heart, in a warm glow of remembrance. -"Vindication Across Time

I repeat one of my mantras. 'This is not happening. This is not real. This did not happen to you. That was someone else.

...I still saw everything through the filter I had created in order to survive. I could not see the happiness that preceded the abyss. I had forced myself not to acknowledge my life's most splendid moment, in order to be able to live out the rest of my life without it. I think that was what had happened. It has changed since, but back then it was impossible for me to embrace the happiness I had lost.

It has rained for five days running the world is a round puddle of sunless water where small islands are only beginning to cope a young boy in my garden is bailing out water from his flower patch when I ask him why he tells me young seeds that have not seen sun forget and drown easily.

I think it's possible that when you think that the future might bring great sadness, you become more generous that you ever has been before, so you can carry other people's happiness with you.

I told her I was not sure I could bear living with memories, she said, Look up at the stars, look, they are not there, what you see is the memory of what once was, once upon a time.

It's not a crime to feel sad, down or depressed. Moving through difficult feelings is an essential part of living life authentically. Though society would have us believe that when we are sad, we need to smack a silly smile on our face and pretend everything is okay. Problems arise when we repress, deny or bury these feelings. We need to know when it's time to seek help and support, to avoid becoming overwhelmed by these types of emotion. Life is a bittersweet symphony, we need to hear every instrument and listen to every note.

It takes a certain kind of man willing to work long, grueling hours in a career offering few rewards.

It was a lesson she was still learning. When she had first started nursing, she had taken every death personally, like she was losing her father all over again. Every patient lost under her care was a little piece of death she would carry around with her until the end of her own life. But the alternative seemed so unfeeling. Tina and the other nurses could crack jokes and banter back and forth about contestants on American Idol before the body of a deceased patient was even cold. It was a coping mechanism, she knew, but not necessarily one she thought she would ever adopt. There had to be something in between. Olive had been called a bleeding heart before, but her heart no longer had the same plasticity and tenderness—it was scarred and worn beyond repair

It wasn't supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself.” “It helps—” “No it doesn't. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze.” “But I need—” “You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on.” “You make it sound so easy.” Bitterness drips from each syllable. “It’s not. It’s the fucking hardest thing a person can do.” I smooth a damp strand out of her face and away from my mouth. “It’s the hardest fucking thing. It’s why we drink and do drugs and fight. It’s why I play music and build engines.

I understand that sometimes the only way we can survive our own memories is to shape them into a story that makes sense out of events that seem inexplicable.

I used to play a game where I imagined that someone had abandoned me in a strange place & I had to find my way back home-I thought I could do it blind, the same way a lost dog might trek a thousand miles to return to its owner, relying on some mysterious instinct that drew the heart back to where it belonged.

I want to believe him. I know stuff happens to people and they can't always be who they were or who they think they're supposed to be. But knowing that doesn't mean I'm okay with it. It's more like what Mr. Krueger says about black holes: We can't wish them away, so we'd better learn as much as we can about where they are and how they work so we don't get sucked in.

I wasn't glad that I hadn't died. And I wasn't sad that I hadn't. I wasn't anything.

Maybe it was being orphaned and alone all my life, but I always steeled for the worst outcome I could envision. That way I could shrug and be almost happy with anything that fell short of the worst. It was a peculiar life skill and one I had gotten damn good at.

Mindfulness describes a "state of becoming" that places the individual beyond judgment and definition.

May our spirit fill us with understanding of victory and defeat, the gift of collaboration, the wisdom to choose the right path, and opportunities that inspire hope.

Mike wasn't religious, but it was pretty cool to imagine a superghost carrying you when shit got a little too real.

Most survivors are cope-aholics, people who cope with whatever is thrown at them without reliance on others. They do not seek sympathy for their pain and feel undeserving if it is offered. They are especially adverse to sympathy from others.

My acupuncturist once told me that it doesn't have to hurt to work. She might have meant the needles, but I think she really meant love.

My life is more than a waiting period; it is an expedition. How I perceive it, and how I improve upon it is solely up to me.

No one can escape their past. The sins we've committed... and the sadness we've caused... No matter how far we run, our past remains, as ever-present as the moon in the sky. It looms in wait... for the day when we are forced to face it. But only in doing so can we truly make peace and move on in hope towards tomorrow.

Often, things are left unsaid. Everyone is guilty of thinking and feeling things... of loving or appreciating others... and of taking for granted that those others will just be there... to continue to share life's journey with... Then when one is gone... so quickly... all those things left unsaid... they matter more, because they were unspoken... Everyone fights their own battles inside themselves... often no one outside them even knows the wars that rage inside even those who they are closest to... I'd like to take the time, here and now, to tell all of you... those close to me, and those who aren't... those who matter so much... and those who have influenced me in even the smallest ways... all of you... that you matter. You are important. You are appreciated. Don't for a moment think otherwise. Don't, for even an instant, think or feel that you are not a wonder... a gift to the world... that makes it a better place to be... or that it would ever, in any way, be anything less than a tragedy for you to leave before your time.

Pain moves us forward, changing us into something else, something we need to be.

People do what they can to get through another day.

Perhaps gratitude and love are one and the same.

Pinned shoulder to shoulder, t-shirts extended in lines, The power of expression, is what "THE CLOTHESLINE" defines. Although each color symbolic, the threads weave the same, Each shirt a picture of violence, each shirt a witness to pain. The color white a memorial, for a victim who died, Simply, because of her gender, precious life was denied. Yellow signifies a victim, embraced by batter and assault, When intimacy turned into violence, as if loving was a fault. Shades of pink, red, and orange - when passion turned into rape, Denied the right to say "NO", by either stranger, or date. The blue and green bear nightmares, when a child of incest and misuse Was forced not to tell the "SECRETS", endured from physical and sexual abuse. See the beautiful shades of lavender, to the one not afraid to voice, A different sexual orientation, condemned, when in public made the choice. In the beginning they first choose the color, then allowing pain to flow from inside, Using buttons, bows, paints, and prose, self-expression no longer denied. As you walk through the line of color, emotional pain may fill your heart, But to the victim this personal creation, permits an inner healing to start. Pinned shoulder to shoulder, t-shirts extended in lines, The power of expression, is what "THE CLOTHESLINE" defines.

Pray that you are in the right place, at the right time, to meet the right person, that together you may help one another.

...repeated trauma in childhood forms and deforms the personality. The child trapped in an abusive environment is faced with formidable tasks of adaptation. She must find a way to preserve a sense of trust in people who are untrustworthy, safety in a situation that is unsafe, control in a situation that is terrifyingly unpredictable, power in a situation of helplessness. Unable to care for or protect herself, she must compensate for the failures of adult care and protection with the only means at her disposal, an immature system of psychological defenses.

Sadness wasn't a disease you could catch, as far as I know, but from what I seen, people treated it like it was.

No matter how hard it is to see kid tears, grown-up tears are worse to watch.

Sasha's green eyes were right up against yours, the lashes interlocking. "In Naples," she said, "there were kids who were just lost. You knew they were never going to get back to what they'd been, or have a normal life. And then there were other ones who you thought, maybe they will." ... You opened your eyes, which you hadn't realized were shut again. "what I'm saying is, We're the survivors," Sasha said. ... "Not everyone is. But we are. Okay?

She lived in the dream world of unreality, or else she would not admit reality; he did not know. In any case, he loved her as she was. It might never be used, but it would give her pleasure to have it.

She said once that time is nothing to me but a series of bookmarks that I use to jump back and forth through the text of my life, returning again and again to the events that mark me in the eyes of my more astute colleagues, as bearing all the characteristics of the classic melancholic.

She was keeping it together. Coping. Coping with the disapproval of her parents towards the choices she'd made.

She wished it were evening now, wished for the great relief of the calendar inking itself out, of day done and night coming, of ice cubes knocking about in a glass beneath the whisky spilling in, that fine brown affirmation of need.

Something still exists as long as there's someone still around to remember it.

Specific parts of you personality may be angry and are usually easily evoked. because these parts are dissociated, anger remains an emotion that is not integrated for you as a whole person. Even though individuals with dissociative disorder are responsible for their behavior, just like everyone else, regardless of which part may be acting, they may feel little control of these raging parts of themselves. Some dissociative parts may avoid or even be phobic of anger. They may influence you as a whole person to avoid conflict with others at any cost or to avoid setting healthy boundaries out of fear of someone else’s anger; or they may urge you to withdraw from others almost completely.

Suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.

The act of consciously and purposefully paying attention to symptoms and their antecedents and consequences makes the symptoms more an objective target for thoughtful observation than an intolerable source of subjective anxiety, dysphoria, and frustration. In ACT, the act of accepting the symptoms as an expectable feature of a disorder or illness, has been shown to be associated with relief rather than increased distress (Hayes et al., 2006). From a traumatic stress perspective, any symptom can be reframed as an understandable, albeit unpleasant and difficult to cope with, reaction or survival skill (Ford, 2009b, 2009c). In this way, monitoring symptoms and their environmental or experiential/body state "triggers" can enhance client's willingness and ability to reflectively observe them without feeling overwhelmed, terrified, or powerless. This is not only beneficial for personal and life stabilization but is also essential to the successful processing of traumatic events and reactions that occur in the next phase of therapy (Ford & Russo, 2006).

The Batcave is a monument… to his pain. The cave is more than his war room. He might think of it that way, all the tools and resources he’s assembled for his work. But that’s not it at all. The Batcave is a monument to his pain. And this morning, the way he’s hurting, it was the last place he would come.

The Bad-Moon Girls appear on days when Dad doesn't know what he is thinking, or even if he is thinking. Those days can weigh less than air or more than an ocean. He has blank thoughts without feelings, followed by heavy feelings without thoughts. Time means nothing. A minute ticks by in the same rhythm as an entire day. He can look at one thing for an hour without moving. He can see me or Victor without knowing we are in the room, peering at us as if we are underwater, moving in warped slow motion. After the nothingness, he wades through a stagnant lake with the moon reflected in it, waiting for the daylight to rinse it away. He almost drowns while time ticks on. The sky is filled with black milk. No stars. Two days can pass before he surfaces. Dad's brain-switch, the focusing thing the rest of us switch on to make things look better, is a bit buggered. Those are his words, not mine. The Bad-Moon Girls whisper evil in Dad's ear, the sort of women who would set their own mother on fire if there were no other way to light their cigarettes. The trouble is, they can follow. Just as we were setting off to Clacton last autumn, they hunted him down.