(A Blog Post by The Dumpster Warlock)
This weeks blog post is inspired by the D&D session I had last weekend and didn’t roll higher than a 3. Not even joking. By the end of the night all of my dice were in dice jail. So without further ado.
Hello, it’s me, the dumpster warlock. Rolling natty 1’s every day of my life. Missing saving throws against burnout. Failing perception checks on joy. My spell slots for “pretending to be fine” are gone before noon.
But today? Today I cast Cure Wounds on myself… again. (See above about slots gone before noon)
Not the Instagrammable version of self-care. No spa retreats, no overpriced wellness candles, no “rise and grind” pep talks. Just the smallest, most basic, most unglamorous spells in my spellbook.
I ate two meals.
I drank a glass of water.
I brushed my teeth.
I even put clean pants on.
And you know what? That’s a goddamn level-up.
The world sells us this story that healing looks like yoga in a sunlit loft with a green smoothie, or expensive retreats, or a perfectly curated morning routine getting up at 6am and drinking a glass of raw eggs. But for a lot of us, healing is way less cinematic. Especially when we’re constantly rolling critical fails on mental health.
Sometimes it’s remembering to eat something, anything, before 3pm. (Hello hand full of shredded cheese and a few slices of lunch meat!)
Sometimes it’s doing a few of the dishes after four days of letting them evolve into new life forms.
Sometimes it’s stepping into the shower but not washing your hair.
Those aren’t small. Those are spells. That’s Cure Wounds.
Anyone who’s dealing with mental health issues is wandering through this dungeon called “adulthood” and we’re playing this campaign on hard mode.
- Unpaid bills.
- Soul-sucking jobs. (if we can even fucking work)
- Doomscrolling until 1am.
- Capitalism acting like a hungry mimic.
No healer’s coming. No NPC is handing you a potion. It’s just you, sitting in the dim light of your apartment, whispering a little incantation that sounds like: “drink water” or “open window” or “text a friend.”
That’s you rolling a saving throw. That’s you surviving the encounter.
We’re told we’re only worth something if we’re “thriving,” “glowing up,” “hustling,” “killing it.” But there’s power in saying: “Actually, I ate two meals and drank water today. I’m unstoppable.”
You don’t have to be a paladin to be proud of that. You don’t have to be a hero to heal yourself. You can be a scrappy dumpster warlock who still finds ways to cast a little Cure Wounds on a body and brain that’s been through hell.
And yes, you deserve a gold fucking star. Several, actually. Maybe a whole bag of them.
If you’re reading this and you’ve been rolling nat 1’s all week, here’s your permission slip. You don’t have to be “productive” to be worthy. You don’t have to glow up to deserve care.
Eat something. Drink some water. Take a shower. Crawl back into your blanket fort. That’s not “bare minimum.” That’s magic. That’s survival. That’s casting Cure Wounds on yourself, again and again, until you start feeling a little more like you.
And when you do? Grab a gold star. You fucking earned that shit.
~ Avery, an emotionally exhausted burnt out, dumpster warlock