Every day of every week of every year I live, there is something that feels hard. I’m not trying to be morbid here.
I think this is not a good way of looking at life. Unless you just suffered a major shock - your kid died, your husband was carted off to prison for CSA materials you knew nothing about, you were just diagnosed with cancer - you should really be pretty okay most days. I mean, sure; I don’t like calling Verizon and arguing about my bill any more than the next person, but the small “hard” stuff, the garden-variety bad stuff, should not get enough head space to register as “hard” and color your assessment of your every day.
