The Benefits of Therapy (AKA Emotional Baggage Claim)

Welcome back to Shrink Wrapped—the podcast where mental health gets the pop culture treatment it’s always deserved. I’m your host, Michelle, counselor’s daughter, chronic overthinker, and someone who once tried to fix their anxiety with a color-coded planner. (Spoiler: It did not work.)

Today we’re back to talking about therapy. Because it's not just for soap opera breakdowns or dramatic movie monologues anymore. We’re digging into the real, actual benefits of therapy—from the scientifically supported to the “who knew talking to someone once a week could keep me from texting my ex” kind.

So if you’ve ever wondered whether therapy is worth the hype—or just want some validation for those copays—you’re in the right place. Grab your emotional support beverage and let’s get into it.

Therapy isn’t just for rock-bottom moments. Obviously it’s great when life feels like a dumpster fire, but it can also be a game-changer when things are fine… or even just good. You don’t wait until your car breaks down to get an oil change, do you? (I hope not- that's actually problematic, please don’t do that.) Therapy helps you process, grow, and navigate life with more clarity—so you’re not just surviving, but actually thriving. It’s about helping you understand yourself better, improving your relationships, and, let’s be real, unlearning some of the weird stuff we all inevitably pick up along the way. So, no matter where you are right now, we’re here to talk about the real benefits of therapy—without the fluff, without the stigma, and maybe with a little bit of humor.

As Shrek famously said, onions have layers. And while you’re not an ogre (unless that’s your thing—in which case, do you, honey boo), therapy helps you peel back those emotional layers and figure out what’s really bubbling under the surface. Think of it like emotional archaeology: digging through the crusty sediment of your childhood, dusting off old coping mechanisms like “pretend everything’s fine and aggressively people-please,” and finally getting a good look at the blueprint of your inner chaos.

Because let’s be real—we’re all out here making some... choices. Spiraling over a “k” text message, getting disproportionately enraged when someone breathes too loud near us, or self-sabotaging just when things start going too well. (Who gave us the audacity to fear happiness? Oh right—trauma.)

Therapy is like having a personal guide through the jungle of your psyche. You start to notice the patterns—oh look, it’s the ol’ “I push people away when I feel vulnerable” move again, classic! Or the crowd favorite: “I’m fine” said with tears in your eyes and a smile that screams deep emotional repression. Once you see these patterns, you can start tweaking them. Like updating the emotional software you’ve been running since age seven.

And yeah, self-awareness isn’t a magical fix. You don’t walk out of therapy glowing with enlightenment like some Instagram wellness guru. But it’s like getting the user manual to your brain. Suddenly, you’re not just feeling stuff, you’re understanding why you feel it. You stop reacting on autopilot and start responding with intention. You realize that maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to let Karen from accounting ruin your whole week just because she said your presentation font was “a little quirky.”

Basically, therapy gives you tools. Not the toxic positivity, “just be grateful” kind of tools, but the “oh wow, that was an abandonment wound in action” kind. And that kind of insight? That’s how you stop raw-dogging life with zero emotional safety gear and start navigating it with at least a helmet and some snacks.

Because life is chaotic. Brains are weird. And therapy? Therapy helps you make sense of it all—one oniony layer at a time.

Life loves to throw curveballs—stress, loss, breakups, job drama, existential dread, your neighbor deciding to start a drum circle at 10 PM. Oh, and the WiFi going out right before you hit “submit” on something important? That’s just life’s little seasoning—emotional paprika, if you will.

Sure, you could try to power through it. Slap on a smile, shove your feelings into that trusty mental junk drawer labeled “Deal With Later,” and pretend you’ve got it all under control. But let’s be honest—Later usually shows up at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday when you're weeping because your UberEats order came with the wrong dipping sauce. That junk drawer? Yeah, it will overflow, and when it does, it’s never about the thing it’s supposed to be about. It’s not just the sandwich—it’s the 47 unprocessed emotions behind it, staging a coup in the deli aisle of your soul.

And without the right tools, we turn to our greatest hits of Unhealthy Coping™: stress-shopping like you’re single-handedly reviving the economy, binge-scrolling until your brain goes numb, ghosting every responsibility like it's a bad Tinder date, or whispering “it’s fine” through gritted teeth while your left eye develops a twitch strong enough to send Morse code.

Therapy, on the other hand, doesn’t ask you to pretend. It says, “Hey, what if instead of bottling that up like emotional kombucha, we actually… talked about it?” Wild concept, I know.

It teaches you how to process your feelings—like actually sit with them instead of speedrunning past them like a boss fight you didn’t prep for. It shows you how to regulate your emotions, which doesn’t mean suppressing them with the cold efficiency of a Victorian ghost—it means knowing what’s happening in your body and brain, and not letting that anxiety spiral send you into a doom-napping fugue state.

And most importantly? It helps you respond—not react. You stop defaulting to panic, people-pleasing, or passive-aggressive Instagram story posts. Instead, you gain the power to pause, breathe, and say, “Okay, I know what this is. I’ve been here before. I have tools now.”

So yeah, life’s gonna keep throwing its chaos grenades. But therapy gives you the emotional flak jacket, the coping toolkit, and maybe even the grace to laugh when the sandwich falls apart—because now you know it’s not just about the sandwich.

Do you keep running into the same struggles—trashfire relationships, mysterious burnout cycles, or self-sabotage that hits like clockwork right when things are going well? Congrats, my friend, you’ve unlocked the “Groundhog Day” expansion pack for your emotional life. Every day’s the same episode, just with slightly different outfits and fresh anxiety.

But here’s the kicker: therapy is basically your own personal emotional detective. Like, “CSI: Inner Saboteur” edition. It helps you investigate the scene of your recurring disasters and figure out what sneaky beliefs or buried fears are behind the wreckage. Spoiler: it’s usually not just bad luck or Mercury in retrograde. It might be that deep-rooted fear of abandonment whispering, “Push them away before they leave.” Or that persistent self-doubt saying, “Better not try—you’ll probably fail anyway.” Or maybe… just maybe… you’re weirdly committed to your own brand of chaos, because at least it’s familiar. (Shoutout to trauma bonding with your coping mechanisms.)

The thing is, these patterns? They’re stealthy. They sneak in wearing disguises: a job that looks great on paper but burns you out like last time, a partner who seems different until they start doing that thing that reminds you of every relationship you swore you’d never repeat. It’s giving emotional déjà vu, and not in a sexy, French film kind of way.

Therapy shines a big ol’ flashlight on those patterns. It gently—and sometimes not-so-gently—nudges you to stop pretending they’re coincidences and start asking, “Hmm, what if I’m the common denominator here?” (Don’t worry, your therapist will help you do this without spiraling into shame paralysis.)

And once you see the rock you keep tripping over, you can stop blaming the sidewalk. Therapy teaches you to sidestep that sucker—or better yet, move it completely. You learn that you’re not doomed to repeat the same crap forever, you’re just overdue for an upgrade to your emotional GPS.

Because here’s the truth: you don’t have to keep reliving the same messes. You don’t have to stay stuck in the cycle of "Why does this always happen to me?" Therapy hands you the clarity goggles, so you’re not just sprinting into the same brick wall and calling it fate.

So yeah—keep the drama if you want. But if you’re tired of emotional reruns, therapy’s how you start writing new scripts. Preferably ones where you don’t end up crying in your car while stress-eating fries and wondering if you’re cursed. (You’re not. You’re just ready for a plot twist. The plot twist is therapy.)

Do you ever feel like your emotions are just doing donuts in a parking lot while you sit helplessly in the passenger seat, clutching a cold brew and praying for impact? Like your anxiety’s got the aux cord, anger’s flooring the gas pedal, and sadness is quietly crying in the backseat with a snack? Yeah. Same. It’s like your internal squad formed a mutiny and left your rational brain tied up in the trunk.

But that’s where therapy comes in—finally, the emotional driver’s ed class we all should’ve gotten in school instead of “how to find the hypotenuse.” Therapy teaches you how to stop white-knuckling through your own mental chaos and start actually driving the damn car. With both hands on the wheel. And maybe a calm playlist instead of pure panic static.

You learn how to recognize your feelings before they morph into a full-blown breakdown because someone left the cap off the toothpaste. You get to name what’s going on—“Oh hey, that’s not just rage, that’s unprocessed resentment with a side of sleep deprivation”—and then regulate it instead of unleashing it on the poor soul who asked if you’re okay. (They meant well, Karen.)

And listen, no one’s saying you’re going to float through life zen as hell, sipping matcha and transcending human emotion. You’re still going to feel things—it’s not emotional lobotomy school. But therapy helps you stop reacting like your nervous system is on a three-alarm fire drill every time something mildly inconvenient happens. Like, no, we don’t need to mentally spiral just because the almond milk was out of stock. We can feel the frustration, acknowledge it, and still go about our day without entering a full existential crisis in aisle 4.

It’s the difference between letting your emotions inform your actions versus letting them hijack them. Instead of emotionally Hulk-smashing your way through life, therapy helps you say, “Okay, I see what this feeling is trying to do, but let’s not burn it all down today.”

And trust—once you start learning how to co-pilot with your emotions instead of letting them lead you off a cliff, life gets a lot more manageable. Your relationships get healthier, your reactions get less intense, and you stop feeling like you need to apologize for 73% of your emotional outbursts.

Because emotions aren’t the enemy. But unchecked, they will take your life on a wild ride you didn’t consent to. Therapy hands you the damn map, a seatbelt, and the confidence to say, “Actually, I’m driving today.”

Whether it’s with your partner, your mom, your situationship, or that one friend who always flakes but somehow never apologizes—relationships can feel like trying to defuse a bomb while blindfolded and holding a latte. One wrong word, one ill-timed sigh, and boom—you’re either deep in a passive-aggressive text war or pretending everything’s fine while simmering with silent rage. (Shoutout to emotional hoarding—where your unspoken resentments pile up like expired condiments in the back of the fridge.)

But here’s where therapy struts in like the sassy life coach you never knew you needed. It teaches you how to actually communicate—not just vent, not just explode, and definitely not just ghost. Like, full-blown adult communication. With words. And feelings. That make sense.

Suddenly, you learn that setting boundaries doesn’t make you selfish—it makes you sane. Saying “No, I actually can’t do that” isn’t rude, it’s revolutionary. And navigating conflict? Doesn’t have to feel like you’re entering a WWE cage match armed only with sarcasm and childhood trauma.

Instead of screaming over who forgot to take out the trash (which, let’s be real, is never just about the trash), you start to recognize the deeper stuff. Maybe you’re feeling unappreciated. Maybe they’re feeling overwhelmed. Maybe everyone just needs a snack and a nap. Therapy gives you the tools to decode that chaos before it escalates into a dramatic “I guess I’ll just do everything myself!” moment.

You also stop trying to win fights like it’s the Olympics of emotional warfare. Because guess what? If someone’s bleeding emotionally and you “win” the argument, you didn’t win—you just delayed the fallout. Therapy helps you shift from “me vs. you” to “us vs. the problem.” Revolutionary, I know.

The result? You start having conversations that actually go somewhere. You build respect. You deepen trust. And—here’s the kicker—you stop accidentally recreating the same dysfunctional patterns you picked up from your seventh-grade friend group or your parents’ Cold War marriage.

Because fighting doesn’t have to be a blood sport. You can disagree without detonating the whole relationship. You can express needs without guilt. And you can repair after conflict without dragging it out into a week-long silent treatment marathon.

With therapy, you go from “walking on eggshells” to “walking in like a grown-ass human who knows how to use their words.” And that? That’s how relationships don’t just survive—they thrive.

Unresolved trauma, grief, and emotional baggage don’t just ghost you after a certain amount of time like, “Okay, cool, I’ll just… see myself out.” Nope. They’re more like that one ex who doesn’t get the hint—still showing up in your life uninvited, acting chaotic, and absolutely tanking the vibe at the worst possible moment.

You’re just trying to live your life—enjoy a brunch, answer an email, flirt like a normal person—and bam, your inner wounds are like, “Remember that thing from five years ago that you never really dealt with? Yeah, let’s feel all that again. Right now. In public.”

These ghosts of traumas past aren’t just lingering—they’re working overtime behind the scenes. They sneak into your emotional responses like unwashed hands into a bag of chips. That irrational anger? That shutdown in conversations? That sudden urge to flee when someone gets too close emotionally? Yeah, probably not just a quirk—it’s your old stuff doing a surprise pop-in, like, “Hey, did you miss me?”

Therapy? Therapy is how you finally change the locks.

It helps you sit down with that mess—not to wallow, but to understand it. It’s less “woe is me” and more “WTF is this wound doing here and how do I make it stop dictating my entire personality?” You dig into the why. Why do you panic when someone says “We need to talk”? Why does your stomach drop when you feel ignored? Why does vulnerability make you want to fake your own death and move to a lighthouse?

And once you start unpacking that emotional suitcase (the one you’ve been lugging around like you’re emotionally overpacking for a weeklong vacation in hell), you realize you don’t need to carry all of it. You can put some stuff down. Process it. Heal it. Let it go. Not in the Disney way, but in the real way—where you don’t cry every time you see something that reminds you of That One Time You Were Deeply Hurt™.

Because dragging your past into your present isn’t just exhausting—it’s heavy. Like wearing a backpack full of bricks while trying to run a marathon. Or date. Or trust people. Or set goals. You deserve better than hauling around emotional dead weight like it’s a personality trait.

Therapy gives you the space to finally offload that junk, organize your internal attic, and maybe even start living like your past isn’t calling the shots anymore. It’s not about erasing the past—it’s about finally understanding it well enough that it doesn’t have to keep sabotaging your future.

Because your trauma might have RSVP’d without permission—but you don’t have to keep letting it stay for dessert.

Therapy is one of the very few places on Earth where you can say literally anything—and no one will text you “wtf” or raise a judgy eyebrow mid-vent. You can spiral, overshare, ugly cry, confess your most chaotic intrusive thoughts, or unpack why you still think about that cringey thing you did in 2014—and your therapist will just nod, maybe scribble something cryptic in their notebook, and calmly say, “Tell me more about that.”

It’s like having a best friend who’s legally bound to listen to you unload your brain gremlins. And yeah, you’re technically paying them, but unlike your group chat, they won’t ghost you because you trauma-dumped at 11 p.m. Or worse, send you that one passive-aggressive “Have you tried yoga?” text. No offense to your bestie—but therapy is where you can say the real stuff. The deep, messy, mildly unhinged things that would make most people tilt their head like a confused golden retriever.

You get to show up in all your glorious mental chaos—no need for a highlight reel, no need to downplay your feelings like you’re auditioning for “Emotionally Chill: The Musical.” You don’t have to censor yourself. You can say, “I feel like a failure because my neighbor’s succulent is thriving and mine died in a week,” and your therapist won’t laugh (out loud). They’ll probably help you figure out why your self-worth is tied to the life expectancy of a cactus. That’s the magic.

And here’s the thing: you’re not weird for feeling the way you feel. Or for thinking the things you think. We all have our  own weird. You have weird. Your therapist has weird. Your therapist’s therapist probably majored in weird. Therapy isn’t about “fixing” you because you’re broken—it’s about figuring out why your brain decided that panic-buying six planners would solve your life. (No shame, we've all been there.)

Therapy is where you go to turn down the volume on the shame spiral and turn up the self-awareness. It’s where you can safely unpack the cluttered attic of your psyche, label a few boxes, toss out some outdated beliefs, and realize that half of the stuff in there was never really yours to begin with.

So yeah, call it a brain spa, call it emotional CrossFit, call it “talking to a stranger who actually listens and doesn’t immediately offer unsolicited advice.” Whatever works. The point is: it’s your space. Your pace. Your weird. Fully accepted, completely validated, and—blessedly—never followed up with “lol you’re insane” in a group chat.

Because you’re not insane. You’re human. And therapy? That’s where you finally get to act like it.

When you start actually understanding yourself—like, beyond your go-to Starbucks order and Enneagram type—you start trusting yourself. And not the version of you who spirals over minor decisions for hours (should you have gone to that party? Was that text too much? Did the barista hate your vibe today?). No, we’re talking about trusting the real you—the one underneath the mental static, self-doubt, and existential crisis TikToks.

Therapy helps you cut through all that noise like a machete through emotional overgrowth. It’s not about becoming a new person—it’s about finally hearing your own voice over the anxious Greek chorus in your head that’s constantly chanting, “But what if this is the wrong choice and everyone hates you now?”

You stop outsourcing your decision-making to your anxiety, your inner critic, or that random high school memory that pops up every time you try to feel confident. Instead of crowdsourcing your every move like a nervous influencer (“Should I wear this? Should I say that? Should I quit my job and move to a yurt?”), you start asking yourself—and actually trusting the answer.

Therapy is how you break up with the version of yourself who overanalyzes text punctuation like it’s a national security issue. You know, the one who’s spent way too long wondering if choosing pineapple on pizza makes you a culinary anarchist. (It does, and that’s why you’re iconic.)

You stop living in this never-ending loop of “What should I do?” and start living in the vibe of “I know what I want, and I’m going for it.” Not because someone else approved it, but because you actually know what feels right—and you’re no longer afraid to claim it.

Therapy builds that inner compass. So you’re not flailing every time life throws you a fork in the road (or a metaphorical pineapple). You get to make decisions based on your values, not your triggers. Your truth, not your trauma. And let’s be honest—being stuck in constant indecision is exhausting. It’s like emotional limbo: all the stress, none of the cardio.

So yeah, maybe you still spend too much time deciding what to watch on Netflix (some chaos is inevitable), but when it comes to the stuff that really matters—your boundaries, your relationships, your future—you stop flailing and start owning it.

Because when you finally trust yourself, it’s not about being right all the time—it’s about knowing that even if things don’t go perfectly, you’ve got your own back. And that? That’s the real glow-up.

Just like exercise keeps your body from turning into a sad little pile of noodle limbs and regret, therapy keeps your brain from spiraling into full-blown meltdown mode when life decides to throw its usual chaos your way. You don’t wait until you’ve pulled your back lifting a laundry basket to start stretching, right? (Okay, maybe you do, but therapy’s here to help with that pattern too.)

You don’t have to be in a full crisis—ugly crying on the kitchen floor, clutching your third cup of lukewarm coffee like it’s a life preserver—to justify going to therapy. That’s like only drinking water when you’re dehydrated enough to shrivel up like a sad houseplant. Therapy isn’t just for when everything’s on fire—it’s for preventing the fire in the first place. Or at least teaching you where the extinguisher is.

Think of therapy as a gym for your mental health. Except instead of lifting weights and pretending to enjoy kale, you’re lifting emotional baggage and unpacking it with someone who doesn’t flinch when you say, “I don’t know why I panicked just because someone said ‘we need to talk.’” Weekly sessions? That’s your brain doing squats. Processing your feelings instead of burying them under sarcasm and Netflix? That’s your mind getting stronger, more flexible, and a whole lot less likely to snap when things get messy.

Because life will get messy. That’s not a glitch—it’s the system. People will disappoint you. Plans will fall apart. The universe will occasionally hit “shuffle” on your stability playlist. And when that happens, therapy makes sure you’re not duct-taping your emotional wellbeing together with caffeine, denial, and bad coping mechanisms you learned from reality TV.

Instead, you’ve got tools. Real ones. Like emotional regulation, healthy boundaries, and the ability to actually identify what you’re feeling instead of defaulting to “fine” or “rage.” You’ve got a foundation. A mental toolkit. And maybe even the grace to take a deep breath and respond to the chaos instead of yelling at your cat and impulse-buying a new life planner at 2 a.m.

So no, therapy isn’t just for crisis mode. It’s for staying mentally ready. It’s like brushing your teeth, but for your soul. Regular maintenance. Preventative care. The thing that helps you hold it together before you become a walking stress ball with a God complex.

Because trust me—waiting until you're emotionally on fire to try therapy is like trying to assemble Ikea furniture mid-earthquake. Sure, you could do it, but wouldn’t it be nicer to already have the emotional Allen wrench in hand?

At its core, therapy isn’t just about fixing what’s broken—it’s about uncovering the version of you that doesn’t immediately spiral when someone says, “Can we talk?” The version who doesn’t lay awake at 2 a.m. rehashing a mildly awkward interaction from three days ago, or who finally stops living life like it’s a never-ending checklist written by someone else’s expectations.

Therapy is about becoming the kind of person who actually lives—not just white-knuckles their way through the week fueled by caffeine, shame, and vague resentment. You start spending less time overthinking every microscopic detail of your existence and more time actually being present in it. Like, imagine choosing something because it feels good and is right for you—not because your high school rival is doing it or because your mom’s voice lives rent-free in your head.

You start clarifying your values—the real ones. Not the ones you inherited from a Pinterest board or your emotionally constipated family. And then, boom: you start making decisions that line up with those values. You stop chasing the shiny distractions and the “shoulds” that don’t even make sense anymore (like, do you actually want that promotion, or are you just trying to prove you’re not a failure? Yeah. Let’s unpack that).

Therapy hands you the user manual to your own damn brain—like, “Here’s why you panic when plans change,” “Here’s why you crave validation from emotionally unavailable people,” and “Here’s why saying no makes you break out in existential hives.” It doesn’t just explain what’s happening, it teaches you how to work with yourself instead of constantly trying to outrun your own patterns like a glitchy Sims character.

You get to design a life that feels good. Not perfect. Not Pinterest-worthy. But one that feels like it actually fits you—like a favorite hoodie, not like you’re squeezing into someone else’s idea of success while low-key dying inside. You stop living in survival mode and start actually making choices that support your peace, your joy, and your deeply specific love for that weird little hobby you never told anyone about.

So yeah, therapy won’t make your life a rom-com montage, but it will help you stop starring in a psychological thriller of your own making. Instead of checking boxes for approval you don’t even care about anymore, you’ll be out here building a life that’s yours—intentionally, unapologetically, and with fewer emotional plot twists.

Because when you finally understand how you work, you stop fighting yourself. And when you stop fighting yourself? That’s when everything starts to click.

Bottom line? Therapy isn’t about “fixing” you like you’re some busted kitchen appliance that short-circuited because you dared to feel too many feelings on a Tuesday. You’re not a broken toaster—you’re a human being with a messy, beautiful, complex brain that’s just trying to make it through life without spontaneously combusting from repressed childhood trauma and unread emails.

And no, therapy isn’t a quick plug-in-and-go kind of deal. There’s no magical “download emotional stability” button. (Although someone should invent that. Please. For all of us.) It’s a process—sometimes slow, sometimes messy, sometimes you cry because your therapist asked, “How are you really?” and you weren’t emotionally prepared to go there before lunch.

But here’s what therapy is: it’s a personal growth gym. Except instead of doing burpees and pretending to like green juice, you’re doing the heavy lifting with your emotions—finally dealing with the old baggage you’ve been tripping over since 2009. You’re learning how to name your feelings without spiraling, how to set boundaries without vomiting from guilt, and how to recognize that, no, your self-worth is not determined by your productivity, Instagram aesthetic, or whether someone texted you back.

Therapy doesn’t look at you and go, “Yikes, let’s fix this.” It goes, “Hey, let’s figure out why that part of you is screaming and what it actually needs.” You’re not broken. You’re not a problem. You’re a whole-ass human with layers (Shrek voice optional), and therapy is where you get to explore those layers without shame or judgment.

You’re not a project. You’re not a fixer-upper. You’re a work in progress—which, by the way, is what literally everyone is. Therapy just gives you the map, the flashlight, and maybe a compass so you’re not wandering through the emotional wilderness hoping vibes alone will get you out.

And every time you show up—every time you peel back a layer, face something uncomfortable, or finally give yourself grace—you’re leveling up. Not to some flawless final form, but to a version of you that feels more grounded, more intentional, more you.

So if you're waiting for a sign to start? This is it. You don’t need to be falling apart to start therapy—you just need to be curious enough to wonder what life could look like if you weren’t constantly dragging your unprocessed stuff behind you like a suitcase with a broken wheel.

Because thriving? That’s not just for people who have it “all figured out.” It’s for you too. Especially you.

So there you have it—therapy isn’t about being “broken,” dramatic, or one emotional breakdown away from adopting a pet snake and disappearing into the woods. It’s about learning how to be with yourself, understand your chaos, and turn down the volume on the inner critic (did you name yours yet?) that’s been narrating your life like a bad reality show.

Whether you're navigating a full-blown identity crisis or just tired of crying in your car over minor inconveniences, therapy can help. It’s not always cute, it’s not always linear, but it is one of the most powerful tools for getting to know yourself—and let’s be honest, you’re way too interesting not to.

Thanks for tuning in to Shrink Wrapped, where we peel back the layers, unpack the baggage, and remind you that mental health isn’t a punchline—it’s the whole damn plot. If this episode made you laugh, cry, or aggressively nod in public, go ahead and hit that follow button, leave a review, or send it to someone who needs a gentle nudge toward the therapist’s couch.

Until next time, be kind to your brain, hydrate your drama, and remember: progress isn’t always pretty, but it sure beats staying stuck.