I'm so sorry that you're stressed, baby. Whether it's family stuff, me, work, or something else entirely I don't like when you're stressed out. I'm assuming you're opening this because I'm not there to help you through it myself so I'm going to do the best I can with this letter.

First, I want you to call me and vent. It always helps to get shit said out loud and off your chest and I am your forever sounding board. Second, if for some reason you can't get ahold of me or talking to me didn't help much I want you to do one or more of the following -

1. Go for a run. Shut your brain off and tire yourself out. Sweat out the stress.
2. Or go at the bag, take out your frustration with your fists productively. (Don't forget to wrap them properly.)
3. Take a hot bath. I have some bath salts in my section of the vanity and no, they are not all girly smelling.
4. Put on some sweats, spread out on the couch, and put on Netflix.
5. And, for horrible emergencies, I've included a couple sections of bubble wrap. Pop them slowly, one at a time, as needed. That shit is always relaxing and satisfying.

I love you, Skylar