I can’t speak for everyone, but I feel safe saying that many of us are navigating our own struggles. Personally, I’ve been wrestling with my feelings for some time, and I finally reached a turning point where I knew I needed to take action.
Anxiety has been a familiar companion since I was a child. Life threw me some unexpected challenges, and I found myself burdened with responsibilities that were often overwhelming. Each of us carries a unique narrative that can leave us feeling lost, but that isn’t the main focus today. Regardless of the past, life continues, and we find ourselves here.
As a teenager, I often felt like I was looking over my shoulder, fortifying myself with an impenetrable wall to prevent past pains from resurfacing. I became skilled at calculating my every move and analyzing the intentions of those around me, all in an effort to avoid any potential hurt. Although I didn’t recognize it until my late 20s, anxiety had taken root early on in my life, growing right alongside me.
Anxiety feeds on my insecurities and fears. It leaves me with clammy hands and a racing pulse, robbing me of sleep and replacing it with illogical thoughts that somehow make sense in the silent hours of the night. It strains my relationships and casts a shadow over social gatherings. It hampers my roles as a partner and parent, stealing away the last remnants of my confidence.
Depression first appeared in my life during my 20s. As I navigated this decade, I was convinced that the world was full of opportunities if only I could manage my anxiety better. But whenever my nerves flared up, depression loomed like a dense fog, threatening to turn into a torrential downpour. It enveloped me without any clear reason for the gloom. As I searched for light, even when I spotted a glimmer, the clouds would inevitably return. This sensation was both strange and hauntingly familiar, echoing the darker times of my childhood. The instinct to flee from that feeling was strong, but it always caught up to me.
Depression breeds more anxiety and irrational thoughts, overwhelming me with sadness and isolation. It keeps me disengaged from my loved ones, both physically and emotionally. It creates a dark space for me to retreat into, leaving me aching from stagnation. The cycle is relentless, pulling me into darkness, leading me back to light, only to plunge me back again. I’m simply tired of running away. I’m weary of missing out on life due to this internal struggle.
I find myself trying to mask my anxiety and depression. To the outside world, I present a smiling facade—a mask I’ve perfected over time. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m trapped on a hamster wheel, desperately trying to keep my mind occupied and fend off the relentless thoughts that haunt me. Others perceive me as a capable woman who seems to have it all together, but the pressure is suffocating.
I often feel like I’m competing in a rat race, berating myself for any perceived failures. I watch my potential slip away as opportunities pass me by, leaving me feeling stagnant. I try to convince myself that once I finish this task or that project, everything will get better. But the reality is that it doesn’t.
And I’m not alone.
Hitting rock bottom was a pivotal moment for me, sitting on the edge of my bed, consumed by feelings of inadequacy as a partner and parent. I picked up my phone and called my doctor.
Walking into her office, I could feel the sweat on my brow and the tears threatening to spill. I sat down, my heart racing, blood pressure elevated as if I had consumed five espressos. I looked into her compassionate eyes and asked for help, as she probed me with the difficult questions.
“Are you a therapist?” she asked. “Yes, an intern,” I replied.
“Wow,” she responded. “You should feel proud of taking this step,” as she wrote my prescription.
In that moment, I felt a mix of pride and vulnerability. I had hesitated to seek help not because I thought I was immune to these struggles but because I needed that moment of clarity—that realization that I couldn’t manage this on my own.
This emotional low was not instigated by anyone else—no family member or friend pushed me to this point. It was my own anxiety and depression that conspired against me. And for that, I am grateful. Without hitting that low, I might never have taken the monumental step to seek help.
And I’m not alone.
I will never face this battle in isolation. I stand alongside a courageous community of individuals fighting for their lives through therapy and medication. Together, we combat the stigma surrounding mental health.
We are not alone. Depression and anxiety do not discriminate; they affect every gender, race, size, and culture. And that’s perfectly okay. We have each other to help eradicate the shame and stigma that often accompany these issues.
I refuse to feel ashamed. We refuse to feel ashamed. And you don’t have to feel ashamed either. Because you are not alone.
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Summary
This article reflects on the shared experiences of anxiety and depression, emphasizing that many people face these struggles alone. It highlights the importance of seeking help, breaking the stigma, and recognizing that we are not alone in our battles.