Hello and Welcome Back to The Therapist Diaries,
Last week I had one of those low days that seemed to arrive without warning. I woke up feeling heavy, flat, and quietly disappointed in myself. I felt behind in my progress. I felt defeated in my ongoing relationship with Type One Diabetes. I felt lonely while the people I love were busy with their own plans, and irrationally envious of people socializing, even though I didn’t actually want to see anyone.
All I wanted to do was stay in bed and cry. And the fact that I wanted to do that made me feel even worse about myself.
How did I handle it?
As a clinician, I’d love to tell you I immediately booked an extra therapy session, journaled for 45 minutes, did breathwork, and cognitively reframed my distortions.
But this blog is all about being honest about our mental health with ourselves and others, so... the truth?
I stayed in my pajamas and watched childhood comfort films back-to-back: Barbie as The Princess and the Pauper followed by Barbie of Swan Lake.
Does it matter which films I chose?
Yes. It absolutely does.
In trauma therapy we often analyze the link between negative experiences in our childhood and our ability to self-regulate/ handle situations in our future. We don't often talk about how positive experiences in our childhood build the resilience and foundation we need in adulthood to handle complex emotions.
The first rule in my therapy room when handling a potential crisis is, and always has been, regulation before resolution. On that particular day, I was not in a place to problem-solve my career trajectory, process chronic illness fatigue, or unpack attachment themes. My nervous system was depleted. I didn’t need insight. I needed soothing.
On this occasion it was Barbie, but I've had similar days where I've sat and reread the Narnia books or I've listened to The Saddle Club albums on repeat. Childhood favorites work because they are predictable.
When we’re emotionally low, unpredictability feels threatening. The brain is already scanning for what’s wrong. Familiar stories reduce cognitive load. You know how it ends. You know the songs. You know the villain gets defeated and the heroine finds her voice. There are no surprises.
Predictability equals safety.
There’s also something powerful about narrative memory. The brain does not store memories in isolation; it stores them alongside emotion and context. Watching something you loved as a child can gently reconnect you with an earlier version of yourself. A version untouched by adult responsibilities, medical management, productivity metrics, or comparison culture. For me, the two Barbie movies I watched were released before I was diagnosed with T1D and so when I was watching them, hearing the songs, and laughing at the poorly written jokes, my brain was remembering what it felt like before I got sick, before my body spent all day every day trying to destroy itself. On my low day, watching those films reminded me of sitting cross-legged on the carpet, completely absorbed in a story. No glucose monitor alarms. No deadlines. No existential questions about “am I doing enough with my life?”
Just story and music and resolution... and purple unicorns, which if you ever experienced girlhood, you'll know can solve any issue!
From a neurobiological perspective, comfort viewing can activate the parasympathetic nervous system, also known as the “rest and restore” state. When we feel low, especially with chronic illness, our systems are often oscillating between stress and depletion. Gentle nostalgia can help regulate heart rate, breathing, and emotional intensity.
But there’s more.
Both of those Barbie films center around identity, courage, and agency. In The Princess and the Pauper, two young women challenge the roles imposed upon them. In Swan Lake, Odette discovers strength she didn’t know she had. Even subconsciously, those themes matter.
When we feel helpless, particularly with something like T1D, where so much feels outside of our control, stories about reclaiming power resonate deeply. Don't see it as regression, see it instead as reconnection.
There is a misconception that coping well always looks productive. That healing always looks like action. Sometimes coping is choosing not to make the day worse. Sometimes it is meeting yourself exactly where you are and saying, today we can make ourselves feel better, tomorrow we can go back to everything else.
On that day, forcing myself to “turn it around” would likely have created shame if I wouldn't have met my usual goals and expectations. Staying in bed and watching something gentle allowed the mood to fall without me attacking myself for having any kind of mood in the first place. It's okay to feel sad, to feel anxious, to feel angry, to feel uncomfortable... it's okay to feel all of those things, but you have to allow yourself to feel them, and learn how to support yourself through feeling them, otherwise the feelings take over, they take control, and then you lose control, and that's where the real issues begin.
By the evening, I didn’t feel euphoric.
But I no longer felt hopeless.
And that’s important.
If you live with chronic illness, or you’re juggling ambition with exhaustion, or you’re in a season where everyone else seems busy and fulfilled, you are allowed to have low days without turning them into character indictments. Sometimes the most regulated choice is not the most impressive or profound one.
And so, my therapeutic advice for the next time you find yourself in an emotional slump, take a moment to ask:
What feels safe right now?
What feels familiar?
What feels kind?
If that answer is a childhood film, a nostalgic album, or re-reading a favorite book, remember that you are not being childish; you're revising and further developing resilience and with that comes emotional intelligence.
Until next time- be kind to your mind.
—The Therapist Diaries
For professional inquiries please visit Voyager Therapy
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