My definition of a mental-health day is every day. I don’t like the idea that a mental-health day has to stick out among all the other days of the year.

On a good day, I deal with rejection by brushing it off; on a bad day, I deal with rejection by getting in my own head.

The not-so-great coping mechanism I had to abandon is crying. Good crying is a great release; sad crying—I actually have to put a time limit on myself. I feel a lot.

 If I’m stressed before bed, I vent to my husband because I don’t want those thoughts or feelings seeping into my dreams or nightmares; if I’m stressed when I wake up, I meditate.

The one person I know I can always be myself with is my dog. There’s no judgment, just love.

I feel the most confident when I’ve put on lipstick.

When negative self-talk is filling my head, I reset by reading the news because it’s always going to be worse than what’s in my head.

The best piece of advice my therapist has given me is “Do something nice today and don’t get caught.”

My mental-health mantra is “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Eleanor Roosevelt said that, and I might get it tattooed on my lower back; you never know.