Mental health is something we’re starting to talk about more—but that doesn’t always make it easier when you're the one struggling. This post is a raw reflection of my own journey through anxiety, depression, irritability, numbness, and healing. If any part of this resonates with you, I hope you’ll walk away knowing this: you are not alone.
The Pressure to Do It All Alone
Do you ever feel like you have to do everything by yourself?
This sense of needing to handle it all alone—independence, in a way—can be overwhelming. You might avoid leaning on others because you don’t want to burden them. Or, in a more painful scenario, maybe you fear they simply won’t care. That silence, that lack of action, can hurt even more in the long run.
So you put on a mask. You smile. You pretend everything is fine, while deep down, you're battling extreme sadness.
The hard truth? Many people around you won’t even notice the difference. Even those you see every single day. That can hurt—the idea that someone who should know you best doesn’t see the shift. It makes the loneliness feel heavier.
Feeling like you have to do everything alone may seem like a sign of strength. And in some ways, it is. But it’s also okay—more than okay—to depend on others sometimes. For me, that feeling of isolation, mixed with fear of “what if,” felt like the world was ending. As someone who struggles with severe anxiety, it was suffocating.
The Struggle of Irritability
Another part of my story is irritability, which was one of the biggest signs that I was suffering deeply.
A common misconception about depression is that it’s just sadness. But it’s not—it’s so much more than that. And honestly, I don’t think we as a society even fully understand it yet.
For me, one of the most difficult symptoms during my most vulnerable times was how irritable I became. I’ve been diagnosed with OCPD (Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder), which plays a big role in the intense frustration and anger I feel. When I’m in that state, it feels like I become someone else—someone I can’t even recognize.
That irritability doesn’t come out of nowhere. It’s fed by trauma, unrealistic societal expectations, daily stressors, and the feeling of constantly holding everything in. When you're living with anxiety and depression, you start to normalize suffering—you adapt to symptoms that shouldn't feel normal. And over time, it just chips away at you
When Depression Feels Like a Black Hole
Imagine waking up in the morning and not wanting to get out of bed. We all have days like that. But with depression, it’s different—it feels physically impossible. Like your bed is a black hole pulling you down, and no matter how much you want to be productive, to go to work, clean the house, or even spend time with loved ones… you just can’t. You're stuck, and every simple task feels like a mountain.
Then the guilt sets in. You feel like a failure because you can’t do what seems like “normal” things. And to make it worse, you might not have anyone around who truly understands—or who even notices. That isolation builds. The irritability rises. Even the smallest thing can feel like too much, and suddenly you’re exploding—not because you’re angry at that thing, but because you’ve been holding in everything.
A former therapist once told me,
"You’re a young woman in this world—it’s valid to be angry."
And I agree—to a point. There's a lot of injustice and pain we carry, especially as women. But there’s also so much good to experience—more than we sometimes realize when we’re in a depressive state.
Going Numb
Alongside irritability, another way my mental health struggles show up is something I call “going numb.”
It’s when you completely shut down emotionally. You close yourself off from everyone. You act like nothing is wrong, while at the same time not caring enough to fix it. You put on your biggest emotional mask—the one that hides everything. But inside, you feel detached, frozen, and scared.
It’s the worst of both worlds: fear mixed with apathy. Disconnection mixed with internal chaos.
For me, going numb was a coping mechanism I developed very early in life, as a response to trauma. It’s a survival tactic. And while it may protect your brain in the moment—keeping you from fully processing painful experiences—it also keeps you from healing in the long run. It numbs not just the pain, but also joy, love, connection, and growth.
This numbness doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human. It means your mind did what it needed to do to survive. But now, as you grow and heal, it's okay to let yourself feel again—even if it's hard, even if it's messy.
A Vulnerable Moment (Trigger Warning: Self Harm)
I want to share a very vulnerable part of my journey.
Trigger warning: This section includes mention of self-harm and suicidal ideation.
Over a year ago, I hit one of my lowest points. I experienced suicidal ideation for the second time in my life.
(Suicidal ideation: thinking about, considering, or planning suicide.)
My version of this was sitting alone on my couch, overwhelmed by the urge to take pills and disappear. It was the result of a perfect storm: a triggering event, deep depression, and unmanageable anxiety—all crashing down in one night.
In that moment, my mind gave up. I let the depression take over. I believed I had to face everything alone, and that no one cared enough to help. I truly believed I was hopeless. That I was a lost cause.
I was suffering so much that “peace” felt like no longer being here. But deep down, even in that darkness, a small part of me knew I still had purpose. My brain had tricked me into thinking I didn’t matter—but that small voice inside told me otherwise.
So I asked for help.
I was hospitalized and received treatment.
At the time, I thought it was the end of the world. But now I realize how much it saved me. It’s been a long journey—and I’m still walking it—but I’m better. I’m healing. And I want you to know:
It’s okay to ask for help. In fact, it might save your life.
What Healing Looks Like for Me
Healing didn’t happen overnight. I wish it had, but it’s been a process—slow, often messy, but real.
For me, it started with therapy—talking honestly for the first time, letting the walls down. Over time, I found other things that helped: journaling, setting boundaries, going for quiet walks, and allowing myself to cry when I needed to. I still have hard days, but I now have tools, people, and a purpose I couldn’t see before.
Healing doesn’t mean the pain disappears. It means you begin to believe that life is worth living again.
Final Thoughts
You Are Not Alone
If you’re reading this and any part of it resonates with you—please know that you are not alone. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine. Speak up. Reach out. Become the healthier, stronger version of yourself that’s still waiting to be found.
Talk to a trusted friend, a family member, a therapist, or even a crisis line. Someone does care. Someone will listen. And you can feel better.
You are not alone.
You never were.
And it’s never too late to ask for help.
Take care of your mind.
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