My Journey with Mental Health: The Silent Struggles and Finding Strength

Living with anxiety and depression is like carrying an invisible weight that no one else can see. For those who haven’t walked this path, it’s hard to explain the sheer dread that can strike out of nowhere—the racing thoughts, the suffocating dizziness, and the gnawing knot in your stomach that refuses to let go. It’s isolating, exhausting, and relentless.

I’ve battled these feelings for as long as I can remember. Anxiety made me overthink every step I took, every word I said. Depression left me feeling like I was stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper no matter how hard I fought to pull myself out. And yet, on the outside, I looked like I had everything together—a façade that made the loneliness even harder to bear.

One memory that sticks with me is sitting in my car for hours, obsessively checking the time to make sure I wouldn’t be late for something. It sounds small, even silly, but to me, the idea of being late filled me with overwhelming dread. And when I thought I’d made a mistake—no matter how minor—the nausea was immediate and all-consuming. It wasn’t just embarrassment or guilt; it was a deep, physical reaction, as though my body was punishing me for my perceived failure.

For years, I felt entirely alone in this. I tried everything—CBT, counseling, mindfulness exercises. While each had its benefits, it often felt like I was patching a leaking dam with pieces of tape. Some days were better than others, but the struggle was always there, simmering beneath the surface.

When I had my second baby, the fear of experiencing postnatal depression (PND) again consumed me. My first experience with PND had been devastating, and I was terrified of falling into that same dark place. Determined not to let it happen, I threw myself into motherhood with a relentless energy—too much energy. I tried to do everything, to be everything, but in the process, I burned myself out. I was so focused on trying to outrun my fears that I forgot to give myself grace.

The hardest part was the guilt. I wanted to enjoy these precious moments with my baby, but I felt like I was failing. I loved them fiercely, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t doing enough or being enough. That guilt was a constant shadow, whispering lies that I struggled to silence.

But through these challenges, I learned something important: I wasn’t alone, even when it felt like I was. I found support in unexpected places—an honest conversation with a friend, a kind word from a stranger, a moment of quiet where I allowed myself to simply breathe. I began to realize that struggling didn’t make me weak; it made me human. And being human means sometimes needing help, needing grace, and needing to take things one small step at a time.

If you’re reading this and it resonates, know that you’re not alone either. Mental health struggles can feel isolating, but there is support out there. Whether it’s professional help, leaning on a loved one, or even just allowing yourself to acknowledge your feelings—you deserve care, compassion, and understanding.

The journey isn’t linear, and it isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. You are worth it.

Mindfulness journaling became a lifeline during my most challenging days, offering a quiet space where I could unpack the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. At first, it felt daunting—facing the thoughts I often tried to suppress—but over time, the practice became grounding. Writing down my feelings without judgment helped me recognize patterns in my anxiety and depression, allowing me to approach them with more compassion. It gave me a sense of control, a way to release the weight of my thoughts rather than carrying them silently. In those moments of stillness, journaling reminded me to focus on the present, even if just for a few minutes each day. Slowly but surely, it became not just a coping mechanism, but a tool for self-discovery and healing.