Depression. Anxiety. I’ve hesitated to write those words, wrestling with the urge to hit delete. Yet, there’s a strange pull that compels me to share my experience.
As I type, the shame creeps in. My inner critic insists I’m flawed for struggling. The perfectionist in me wants to hide the days when all I can manage is to stay in bed and pull the covers over my head. My ego fights against revealing moments when I feel breathless, overwhelmed by the chaos swirling within.
But I choose to share my truth because the stigma surrounding mental health can be isolating. Human connection is vital, and the shame we carry can deepen our solitude. So, even if it makes me uncomfortable, I’ll let you in on my humanity.
I first faced depression and anxiety at the tender age of 15. From the outside, I was a typical teen, seemingly in control. No one knew I felt trapped within my own mind, seeking escape in anything that offered fleeting comfort. Nights were spent tossing and turning, unable to calm the storm inside. I longed to disappear, to escape the façade I had built, which only heightened my loneliness.
In the past, I turned to alcohol, drugs, and food to numb the pain. I tried to control my life obsessively, swinging between indulgence and self-punishment. I sought stability in external sources, unaware that true grounding had to come from within.
In 2008, at age 20, I found a path to recovery. I was battered and raw, yet I embraced sobriety, confronting my demons and beginning to heal my past. But even in sobriety, depression has cast its shadow over me at various times. Life’s challenges can be triggering; I encountered postpartum depression after my second child was born and faced the trauma of my three-year-old’s serious illness. Each experience pushed me closer to the edge, and anxiety crept in beside depression, tossing me like a rag doll.
To navigate these waves, I had to reach out for help, confiding in trusted family and friends. Processing my pain was essential to reclaiming my freedom. I learned that vulnerability is strength; by sharing my truth with those who offer love and honesty, I’ve been able to rebuild myself, emerging stronger and more resilient.
My mental health is a daily commitment. Just like my recovery from alcoholism, I must confront my feelings to maintain my well-being. Avoiding or denying my struggles has never worked—here’s a spoiler: you can’t simply wish them away.
I’m deeply sensitive and highly attuned to my emotions as well as the energy around me. I’ve come to embrace this aspect of myself; it doesn’t make me weak or broken—it makes me uniquely me. Life can be tough, and acknowledging that truth helps me navigate the challenges without succumbing to suffering. I trust that I can move through difficult times because nothing stays the same forever.
I share this because I know I’m not alone. In times when we’re confined to our homes, mental health issues can intensify. For many, this period can be a significant trigger for anxiety and depression. My hope is that by sharing my journey, others might feel less isolated in their struggles.
Saying, “I’m not okay today” diminishes its power and opens the door to the possibility of a brighter tomorrow, one day at a time. For more insights on navigating these experiences, check out this related post.
If you’re considering starting a family, you might find helpful resources at Make A Mom and Healthline.
Summary
It’s important to recognize that it’s okay to admit when you’re struggling. By sharing experiences with mental health, we can break the isolation and stigma surrounding these issues. Embracing vulnerability can lead to growth and healing, allowing us to navigate life’s challenges more effectively. Remember, it’s perfectly fine to say that you’re not okay today.
Keyphrase: admit you’re not okay
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