What do we do when we are sad? How do we cope? Whether it’s heartbreak, loneliness, stress or desperation; whether you’re an action bunny, soulful artist, or beleaguered professional, here are a smattering of remedies that have passed the trial of sighs and tears.

The ultimate strategic plan

Charlie: When sad in a superficial sense—say “a case of the Mondays,” or being exhausted after a long day at work, I find short term fixes in junk food and junk TV. For a long-term remedy, I create a strategic plan.

For example, I’ll list the things in life I have to do to feel less sad:

(1) Exercise more
(2) Surround myself with friends and family
(3) Sleep more
(4) Eat better food
(5) Pick up a hobby

Sometimes, I think the junk food and TV are just timesavers, as I tend to be hyperactive and always on-the-go. Spending a day in pajamas while watching TV gives me a chance to recharge.

The last time I hit a slump of sadness and made a list to fix it, I shared it with a friend. It scared the crap out of her!

It included building a community of support with “action items” and “steps” (e.g. call X friend on Monday, Y friend on Tuesday, and organize a lunch for Friday for all my friends).

A sense of perspective, plus baking

Yves: As someone who sometimes suffers from depression, plain and simple sadness (without the bottomless pit of despair) has a different feel. In my view, this kind of sadness is often appropriate and needed and has its own importance and beauty.

I feel there is a tyranny of happiness in society which doesn’t find it acceptable for adults to be sad—but I think we need people to be sad now and again!

That being said, my favorite recipe for being cheered up is to bake bread or cakes. For me, baking is a magical (al)chemical process, which is simple, time-consuming and attention demanding. It comforts some deep part of myself and the smell of freshly-baked bread is (almost) as good as a hug.

Otherwise I would recommend reading: a book has the power to inspire and transport you, and I often find that if my imagination is tickled, then so too is my mood.

Puppies, puppies, and more puppies

River: When I’m sad, I try to find a dog to play with.

When I was living by myself in New York and working long, lonely hours on the weekends, I would get quite down. Instead of turning to retail therapy, I would go to a pet store around the corner from me on 8th Avenue.

Although most pet stores usually leave me feeling even worse than before I walked into them, with their awful cages and sick-looking puppies, this one was a far cry from that. Shiny and white, it was staffed by gay Latino men who cuddled the pets and were eager to tell you things like, “I named this one smooches because he loves to give kisses!!!”

The store would let you take the puppies and play with them in their own enclosures, so I would spend hours there playing with puppy after puppy; I cuddled sweet, sad-eyed bulldog babies that just would lie on your lap and nuzzle you; I chased fluffy Maltese cotton balls in circles until they fell asleep on their feet. I particularly loved a slightly older schnauzer female who was gentle, full of energy but remained unsold for a month. I was playing with her when a family came into the store—thirty minutes later I had convinced them she was a great dog, and they took her home that day. I was sad to see my friend go, but happy that she had found a family. I always left that store feeling re-energized and happier than if I had guzzled a dozen lattes or bought a zillion new pairs of shoes.

I don’t have a store like that near me now, but when I’m sad I still try to roam the streets of Cambridge until I see a dog. I overcome my introversion and make small talk with the owner while I hug their pooch. I love their little dog faces and scratching them on their chins. I love the way their entire butts wriggle with joy when you say “good dog” and rub their backs. My fingers itch to scratch a dog when I’m sad.

Beyond the physiological, I think dogs reassure me that unadulterated and unceasing love and loyalty exist, if only in sloppy-tongued form.

They have this boundless energy and enthusiasm for the world that delights me—like in that scene from “Up” where Doug runs to the old man saying, “I have just met you, but I love you!”

There’s no ill that afflicts me that a romp with a dog can’t solve.

Period frivolity and the little gestures

Joan: When you first asked this question, my answer to you was “Georgette Heyer books and warm baths.”

I’m sure it sounded trivial at the time, but let me explain. When my partner went into hospital, Georgette Heyer was my best friend. I was in a dark place and barely holding my shit together, but Georgette was there for me. Her books took me to another place, one where everyone lived in Georgian England and behaved in slightly ridiculous ways. Her world was full of people whose predicaments weren’t really predicaments, and whose stories always worked out in the end. It was what I needed at a time when all the lights were going out on me. They were the only bit of colour in my world.

It’s amazing what small things can do to keep you going. Treating myself to hot baths and little indulgences, like chocolate and bad TV were a way of saying to myself, “yes, you are awesome, yes you deserve this.”

Because when things were falling apart, I found taking ownership of the things that were still within my control empowering.

Small gestures, but they made all the difference. For instance when I lost my precious book collection I went out and re-bought all the books I couldn’t save. All of them. Immediately. Asserting control over what you can control makes a difference. You can still have an impact on your world, even when external forces are tearing it apart.

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By Charlie, Joan, River and Yves
Photograph by Kathryn Beadle