It’s one of the simplest things in the world — a quick note to say, hey, I’m thinking of you, how are you doing? But when you’ve been up all night with the world’s cutest biological weapon, those tiny check-ins mean the world.

When was the last time you sent someone a message — a text, a DM, a note, a letter — just to check in? What made you send it? What was the response? How did it feel to reach out?

Prompt: Send messages to three people who you haven’t checked in on in a while, even if you talk to them regularly. Ask them how they’re doing. See what happens next. Create about it.

A non-exhaustive list of things people have sent me this week while I was in The Pit of Despair:

Before I had kids, I did a lot more “I saw this and it made me think of you!” messaging. Having been on the receiving end of a lot of that this week, I’m making an effort to get back into it. Half the time you’ve already got your phone out when you see it anyway — what’s another ten seconds?

How often do you see something — a post, a picture, an animal, a flower, a coffee mug, or anything else — and think, “Oh, so-and-so would love that!”…and then not show it to that person? What is it that stops you from sharing it? What does it feel like when you do share it?

Prompt: This week, make an effort to send at least three “saw this and thought of you!” messages. What do you notice? How does it feel? Create about it.

In Asheknazi Jewish communities, chicken soup is known as “Jewish penicillin” — prescribed as a cure-all and delivered immediately upon the slightest hint of a sniffle. I am not kidding: Jews have apparently been doing this shit since the 12th century.

My house is comprised mostly of vegetarians and children who don’t believe in soup (???????????) but the principle of the power of food to be deeply healing is still strong. This week, we had a friend send us a DoorDash gift card, and my partner and I took turns delivering whoever was currently In Custody Of The Cranky Child fresh cups of coffee/tea/medicinal whiskey, and I have to say, that old adage about food tasting better when someone else makes it for you? It’s still accurate.

There’s a reason that in so many cultures, food is deeply tied to community. Preparing, sharing, and offering food isn’t just about nourishing the body, it’s a way of showing up for the people we care for. Sometimes they’re family, sometimes they’re neighbors, sometimes they’re people we’ve never even personally met but who we know need a little extra support.

What foods or drinks do you associate with comfort and/or community? Where does that association come from? When was the last time someone brought or sent you something to eat or drink? When was the last time you sent or brought something for someone else? What did it feel like to give? To receive?

Prompt: This week, set an intention to bring or send something edible (or drinkable!) to someone who might need it — whether it’s making your partner a cup of tea, delivering a casserole to a neighbor, or texting a gift card for delivery to a friend stuck at home. What did it feel like? Create about it.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn as a parent (and, honestly, as a person) is that old classic from the airplane briefings: you have to secure your mask before assisting someone else.

Creatives are often tender souls; creatives who are parents or caregivers are often doubly so. Most of the creators I know who also hold caregiving roles have some level of a martyr complex (or they’re doing a lot of work to heal those impulses) — because of course we should be the ones who do that caring, of course we can’t step away from someone who needs us, of course we’ll show up, no matter what, because how could we not?

The end result of this is, predictably, burnout. Rest your body or your body will rest for you isn’t just a quippy expression; it’s a biological fact. We can only light ourselves on fire to warm someone else up for so long before we crash.

The most rest I got this week was when my partner gently-but-firmly informed me that no matter how much the kiddo believed that I was the Only Human Being On The Planet capable of snuggling her, she in fact has two capable and loving parents, and I needed to sit down, have a snack, and Not Be Touched for a minimum of twenty minutes.

And those twenty minutes? Incredible. World-changing. Life-returning.

It’s the little things, you know? But dang do they matter.

Have you ever offered to step in and take something off someone else’s plate, even temporarily, when you can tell they’re overwhelmed? Think big, think small: helping an overloaded parent in a grocery store parking lot; offering to walk a friend’s dog when you know they’re having a busy week at work; staying a few minutes late after an event to help clean up. What was it like to make the offer? Would you do it again?

Prompt: This week, make an offer to help someone with something, however small, to give them a moment to breathe. Notice as much about the experience as you can. Create about it.